Signed, Lady Voldemort
by Rayniekinnz
Summary: 'The Order are getting desperate and cast the Spatiosus curse on Harry, hoping it will amplify the hate within him for the Dark and once and for all end the War and Voldemort. As anything that happens to Harry, it all goes a bit skew and suddenly, the Light think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all…' Eventual LV/HP. Crackish Themes.
1. Act I: Dearly Beloved

**Summary**: 'The Order are getting desperate and cast the _Spatiosus_ curse on Harry, hoping it will amplify the hate within him for the Dark and once and for all end the War and Voldemort. As anything that happens to Harry, it all goes a bit skew and suddenly, the Light think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all…'  
**Pairings**: Voldemort/Harry.  
**Category**: Angst/Crack/Romance  
**Warnings/tags**: ABSOLUTE CRACK. Slash. Adult Content. Mentioned/Hinted MPreg. Language. Mild Violence. AU/AR – Noncanon. Dark Themes. Dark!Harry. OOC.

* * *

**Signed, Lady Voldemort [But Only Because Lord Is Already Taken!]  
****Act I/Chapter One: Dearly Beloved  
****3 November, 1996**

_Dear Voldemort,_

_It's me – Harry! Bet you weren't expecting that, hmm? I'll tell you, even convincing my owl to deliver this was a mission unto itself so you better appreciate this! I know this is a bit surprising, I mean we've never written before but there's a first time for everything—right? _

_I suppose you're wondering _why_ I'm writing to you…but just telling you would ruin the fun, don't you think? _

Anyway:_ Hi. How are you? I'm great. Well…not _great_…I'm content. I'm sitting in the library, if you were wondering – and I hope you are. It's almost curfew, so there are only a few other people in here with me. I'm hoping to finish this up and then have Hedwig [my owl] have it to you by tomorrow morning. You can read it while you eat breakfast! It always cheers me up when I read a nice letter while I'm having some toast and with how many idiots you must deal with on a daily basis, I think you could use the extra help. _

_What do you eat for breakfast, anyway? Eggs and bacon? Oatmeal? You don't eat oatmeal, do you? That stuffs plain _gross_. I like French Toast with syrup, cinnamon and some bacon. The bacons optional, though. Hermione gets really disgusted when I make a sandwich with it so I can only really eat it when she's not around…sadly, that's rarely…_

_Sorry about my hand-writing, by the way. Snape says he's seen some of his potions' ingredients do better work. I think he's lying. _

_Ugh, some Ravenclaw bint is trying to 'sneakily' see who I'm owling. Is sneakily a word? I'd ask her—I asked her. She got really embarrassed and ran away, so…I guess if it's not then I'm sorry? Well, at least she's gone. I think she might have been a friend of Cho's. _

_Oh, that's Cho Chang by the way. Cedric, that guy you killed – 'the spare' – was her boyfriend. I went out with her for a while – but don't worry! I got over her quickly, so I'm totally unattached! She was awful, anyway. I had my first kiss with her, yeah, and it was like rubbing my face on a fish. A fish! I was so glad when she broke up with me._

_I haven't dated anyone since, if you're curious. Ginny wanted to, but I can't say I like redheads…reminds me of my mum, if you know what I mean? I've heard about men 'marrying their mothers' but that's really too much for me. What if we ever…_you know_ and then I saw Mum's face instead?! I think I would abstain forever after! _

_Oh, too much information, right? Sorry. I'm more into brunettes, anyway ;)_

_[Do you like the winky-face? Pretty cool, right? It's a muggle thing…but I couldn't resist!]_

_Well, I don't really have anything else to say for now…so I guess I'll go ahead and send this off. Reply soon, yeah?_

_Signed,  
Lady Voldemort [BUT ONLY BECAUSE LORD IS ALREADY TAKEN!]_

Harry hummed quietly to himself, folding his letter and putting it into the special envelope he had nicked from Hermione's stash. He sealed it and started gathering his things, hurrying out of the Library when Madam Pince looked as if she was about to come over and scold him.

It wasn't enough to wipe the smile off his face though and he walked with a visible spring in his step, excitement and those bubbly-butterfly feelings welling up inside him as he thought about how his letter would be received. He knew it would probably take a while for Voldemort to see that it wasn't a joke, but he was prepared to do whatever it took to make him understand.

They were meant to be together, after all, and Harry wasn't about to let silly things like a war get in the way of their love.

**Chapter 1/To Be Continued  
**

* * *

EDIT: A reviewer [on AO3] pointed out to me that my translation is rather hilarious. It doesn't quite mean what I wanted it to mean xD Google says is translates to 'Roomy' in English. I don't speak Latin obviously, so I used multiple websites to translate what I wanted and they all seemed to say the same thing TT-TT apparently not. The full cursey name thing is 'Spatiosus Contemno' - I'm not sure what I made it in English [I apparently can't take notes orz] but the spell is literally supposed to 'amplify the the strongest feelings within someone' or 'amplify hate'. Because Harry is supposed to hate Voldemort with his entire being, it should have turned him into a war-machine.

As you can see [or will see], that didn't quite happen :D

Very loosely follows Canon - very AU! Features **OOC!Uke!Unrealistic!Harry****,** **OOC!Sane!Voldemort**, **OOC!Friendly!Draco** and **OOC!Confused!Death Eaters.**

This will be a fairly long story, with roughly three parts or 'Acts'.

While this will have some serious themes, there is a lot of crackish-ness and I've messed around with the timeline and events quite a bit, so don't come complaining about how some things aren't IC or X didn't happen that year and Y doesn't act like that. You have been warned about the mind-fuckery and confusion.


	2. Act I: The Beginning of the End

**Chapter Two: The Beginning of the End  
4 November, 1996**

Harry Potter was a boy with a plan. He didn't know how long it would take for his plan to work or _if_ it would even work, but he had one and hopefully…_hopefully_ it would bring him closer to the end goal.

* * *

Harry awoke early the next morning, too excited to think about anything not Voldemort-related and too hyped to sleep – not even having to carefully peel his sleep-pants from his crotch could distil his great mood. He showered enthusiastically, washing all his bits and bobs with the spicy-scented body-wash he had bought specially at the end of the summer and rinsing his hair with a shampoo that was supposed to make it more manageable. He didn't quite think it was working since it was still chaotic, but it smelt good and a healthy birds-nest was a lot better than a gross dirty one in his opinion.

Neville gave him funny looks as he got out of the shower and Ron groaned and grumbled about him being so happy in the mornings, but he ignored them both and got dressed for the day – a Monday. He grabbed his bag and made sure he had everything he needed before heading down to the Common Room and then out past the portrait for some breakfast.

He sat down in his usual spot and started piling up his plate. He ate mechanically, barely tasting any of the delicious breakfast-stuffs that had been prepared that morning as he thought; mind running a mile a minute. He was horribly paranoid about it all going wrong and everyone _knowing_. As much as he'd love to rub it in their faces, it wouldn't do to reveal himself so early in the game.

And it _was_ a game; a game Voldemort had been playing for decades, long before he was born and so naturally, he was the more likely to get out unscathed. There was also the fact that he had been neglecting his Slytherin side since entering Hogwarts…he would need to get in all the practise he could. And what better way to learn than by the Princess himself, Draco Malfoy?

He supposed it was a bit far-fetched, but he knew there was _something_ behind the pathetic nasally façade of his once-rival. There was a spark of intelligence, wit and a cunning that had to have his father shed a prideful tear. Harry had experienced it all first-hand – he had no doubts there was more than meets the eye with his old enemy.

At least, he _hoped_ there was. If Draco Malfoy was a mere 2D-shape of arrogance, daddy-issues and Rich-Kid Syndrome then he was _fucked_.

Though, it really would be his parents fault for raising such a snotty brat anyway – but that was a topic for another time. If he couldn't rely on Draco after all then he'd have to wiggle himself into Snape's good graces instead. Which, as you can probably tell, didn't sound one bit promising. He'd push aside his personal feelings, however, and just focus on the bits of Snape—oh _eww_, mental images!—that he admired.

Like how he was playing with Dumbledore _and_ Voldemort.

He didn't for one second think his beloved didn't suspect Snape, but it was still amazing how the man used the users to his own advantage. Hmm…maybe he should pay a visit to Snape anyway, even if he somehow convinced Draco to work with him…

He knew it was silly to expect a reply right away, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed when ten minutes before they were due to go classes Hedwig still hadn't returned. His mood dimmed a bit then and he didn't bother trying to be cheerful for his friends, knowing it was useless anyway since they had thought his perpetual good mood since the week before was even stranger than being a complete grump.

After the revelations he had in the summer, he had spent a lot of time sulking and snapping at the Order members and his friends. They had all played a part in pushing him away from Voldemort and he wouldn't bloody well forget it! Especially Dumbledore, the old fool! As if he needed protection from his beloved – and such crappy protection too! Tonks was clumsier than a cat on anaesthetic! And did he really think Harry believed in the 'blood wards' nonsense? _Honestly!_

But whether or not they thought him being in a bad mood was normal nowadays, he couldn't have them getting suspicious. Ever since his birthday Hermione had been all over him like a wet-blanket, wanting to know where he had been, where he was going, who he was doing it with and could she come too? You know, just because she _missed_ him or she was _bored_ reading all of the _rare_ _books_ in the Black Library. He loved her, he really did, but after waking up on August first without any memories of the night before, he wasn't taking any chances.

Whether or not it turned out to be anything more than Voldemort trying to get into his mind and him passing out in the process, it was his right to take offense when everyone just brushed him off and said it wasn't a big deal – that he must have hit his head. She _knew_ something and like everyone else, she was keeping him in the dark.

He smiled to himself – not a particularly nice smile either – and got up to leave the Great Hall. He had spent the first decade of his life enclosed in the darkness of his own mind and the retched cupboard under the stairs…

It was only natural he would eventually return.

* * *

Far away in the dusty office of Lord Vo—er, _You-Know-Who_, said man-snake-thing was trying desperately to use his famed genius to figure out just _what the fuck _Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived AKA The-Pain-In-His-Arse [his once very delicious arse, if he did say so himself] thought he was doing.

He had been having a pretty normal morning when Wormtail burst into his office, a vicious white owl pecking at his face and scratching his hands. It paused upon seeing him, flying away from his idiot servant and swooping over his desk and promptly dropping a crisp white envelope into his oatmeal before settling across the room to groom itself.

He had been furious – who dared disturb him so?! – but all feelings of anger were thwarted once he saw exactly what had been sent to him. He read silently and emotionlessly, finally putting down the length of parchment and just staring at it for a time.

He totally didn't tip his oatmeal into the bin.

He was rumoured to be _slightly_ insane, but the boy really had dropped the ball. And what exactly was he talking about, picturing his mother during copulation?! His memories of the Weasley-girl kindly donated by his very first Horcrux – it had been reabsorbed upon his revival since Lucius had gotten it destroyed, the idiot – confirmed her suspiciously-similar appearance to Lily Potter, but _really_. He could have gone his whole [hopefully eternal] life without having to think of such things!

He didn't care if it was a joke or if by any chance the boy really had gone barking; he had more important things to think about then replying to such a silly letter – _like killing him so he could continue his reign of terror in peace!_ Scoffing, he tossed it from his immediate vision and forcibly removed the darned bird from his office.

Dumbledore really had cocked up if his 'Boy Wonder' was trying to make a pen-pal out of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

* * *

Binns was rattling on about something or another – if they were finally learning anything useful, Harry didn't know or care. He wasn't even hiding his absolute boredom, head resting on his forearm and yawning every few minutes. Ron was snoring in the seat beside him with a book propped up in front of his face and Hermione was doodling on his other side, looking as if she was about to nod off at any time as well.

History of Magic really was dull; even duller than the muggle-history classes he had been made to sit through in primary school. At least then you learned about different things, now he couldn't pay attention long enough to know what they were meant to be discussing.

Glancing over to the Slytherin side of the room, he saw Malfoy and his lackeys in almost the same exact positions as them. Parkinson was snoring almost as loud as Ron, hunched over in such a way that if Malfoy hadn't been sitting beside her she'd probably end up teetering and falling off her chair. He had his head in his hand, absently twirling his quill in his fingers or scribbling little pictures across what was probably supposed to be his notes. He seemed to realise something and then starting charming them to move. Zabini just looked bored, lazily picking at his nails and sometimes leaning over to examine something Malfoy pointed out.

Harry blinked, watching curiously as they whispered conspiringly to each-other and then smiled – or was that a smirk? – before returning to their respective activities. Were they…_together?_

It was a random and completely unprompted thought, but he couldn't help but think they seemed very…close. Malfoy seemed to be leaning into Zabini's space – though with Parkinson on his other side, he didn't think he would have gone that way either – and when they spoke they seemed completely unconcerned about how short the distance was between their lips and the skin of the other.

If Malfoy was gay too then his already rather high value to Harry had gone up considerably. Having grown up in such a hateful environment he knew next to nothing about homosexuality except that it was generally frowned upon in the muggle world and his family had been especially venomous about it. It seemed unlikely that Wizarding-kind would be more open-minded since they seemed to be stuck in the past – perhaps the Victorian era – but he could only hope it was at least a little different. If the way Malfoy had just brushed his mouth across Zabini's cheek had anything to do with it, then it couldn't be that bad.

After all, the Malfoys' wouldn't do anything possibly scandalous – _cough_ Death Eaters _cough_ – and if Malfoy did, then he certainly wouldn't do it so publically. As if feeling his gaze, cool grey eyes rose and flickered to meet his. Malfoy didn't explode like he expected, merely scowling and raising a challenging eyebrow.

Harry inclined his head, a smirk curling at his lips. Malfoy's glare dimmed and he looked intrigued, glancing at Blaise before looking pointedly back at him. A nod and they both turned back to face the front.

Harry settled down again, satisfied. He'd confront him soon – perhaps the next day, or sometime after that.

* * *

Harry was not impressed when Hedwig returned empty—er, _clawed_. Sure, he wasn't expecting to receive a whole long spiel on his beloved's undying love for him and how they would be together forever and ever, but _something_ would have been nice.

Hell, even a quickly scrawled _'fuck off you fag'_ would have worked! At least then he knew he had _some_ kind of chance!

Growling to himself, Harry ignored the way his friends 'discreetly' inched away from him. This made it difficult to put his next stage of the plan into motion – he could just do it, but it would be easier if he had a little more information. He sighed and rubbed his face, deciding to just go to bed and write another letter in the morning when he wasn't so ticked off.

******Chapter 2/To Be Continued...**


	3. Act I: Strike One

**Chapter Three: Strike One  
5 November, 1996**

Harry dodged his friends and went to sit in the library during his free hour before Transfiguration. He was still feeling a little hurt from the night before, but knew he just needed to move forward and try again. If Voldemort gave in right away it wouldn't be much fun anyway, would it?

He got out some parchment and ink, absently chewing on his thumbnail as he thought about how to approach his next letter. He had wanted them to start getting to know each other, but he supposed that could wait a bit. Twirling his quill so the nib was poised to write, he started scribbling:

_Dear Voldemort,_

_I know you got my last letter and unless you're just taking a while to write a reply and planning to send it with your own owl, I am very upset. _

_So, let's start again. How are you? I'm fine. I'm sitting in the library again – it's a pretty quiet, unassuming place to be. I wonder why I hadn't noticed before. Probably because Ron always groans and grumbles about books and learning and just generally makes you not want to go there in fear of a tantrum._

_Ron is my 'best friend' – Ronald Weasley. Do you have a best friend? Probably not…but you were close to Abraxas Malfoy once upon a time, weren't you? Enough that he pushed for his son to join your cause. And yes, I did some research. Pretty smart of me, right?_

He paused, smiling a bit. He was rather proud of himself for even thinking about studying up on Voldemort. He had probed Dumbledore a bit, saying he just wanted to know what he was up against, and the old fool had been happy to point him in the right direction. He hadn't found much in ways of the history books he had been advised on getting, but he had gotten a lot more than Dumbledore probably expected. The events of Second Year set him on the right track too.

Sobering a bit, he sighed and inked his quill. He wondered what it would have been like to have the diary now.

_Just don't ask how I got the information – unless you can guess? It's not that hard, considering our…abilities._

_You haven't sent me any nasty dreams in a while. Have you been busy? I haven't heard anything from the Order [though that's nothing new] but there hasn't been any noteworthy Death Eater activity in the paper. Malfoy's been his usual self too, so Lucius [I think we're 'acquainted' enough that we can use first names] must not be doing anything terribly dangerous._

_And no, I don't expect you to spill all your plans to me. I'm just curious as to your sudden – disinterest? – in me. It's a bit worrying, you know. How do I know you haven't found some younger, prettier Boy-Who-Lived model? I'm not ugly or uninteresting, but how do I compete with that?!_

_A little annoyed,  
Lady Voldemort [I repeat, ONLY because Lord is already taken!]_

Grumbling a bit, Harry folded up the letter and packed up his things. He wanted to send it immediately – couldn't have Voldie thinking he was even the slightest bit uninterested!

…or maybe he should play hard to get? No, that wouldn't work, he frowned. He'd have to get his attention for sure before pulling out a bit.

He tried to ignore the sudden tightness in his pants at the thought of Voldemort 'chasing' him.

* * *

"Where have you been, mate?" Ron demanded as soon as he entered the Common Room. Harry shrugged and ignored the sea of eyes suddenly pinned to his body. He fiddled with his bag-strap and flopped down on the nearest empty seat.

"Out and about. Had to ask Flitwick something about our assignment and then I ran into Luna. We went to the kitchens and she helped me pick a way to die for this week's Divination homework."

"And what was it?" Neville asked curiously just as Hermione said, "Why didn't you ask me?"

They glanced at each-other, frowning, before Neville gave a sheepish smile and went back to the book he was reading. Harry blinked, not quite liking the way Hermione was glaring at the poor boy. She certainly was a little more aggressive than usual…

"Oh you know, the usual. Voldemort. And I didn't ask you because you were busy, 'Mione. I don't know about you, but interrupting snogging sessions to ask about homework didn't seem like a good idea."

She still frowned, but looked somewhat appeased as a rosy flush rose to her cheeks. Ron grinned, waggling his eyebrows, and Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Neville caught his gaze and he smiled, brightening somewhat when he received a shy grin in response.

Neville had been quiet since coming back from break, though Harry didn't think anyone really seemed to notice. A sad thought, but the truth. He had been spending more time studying and Harry honestly didn't even notice him unless they were in Potions'. He didn't seem to be interacting much with anyone either – or, well, that was a lie. Harry had seen him talking to some people from the other houses. Mostly Slytherin, to his surprise – and boys.

His mood dimmed a bit and his brows drew together.

He had been having less accidents lately, too. They were sixteen, growing up and maturing, but he didn't think it was puberty that had hardened Neville. No, something had happened…or _someone_.

He kept his expression politely vague as he listened to the conversations around him, nodding every now and then when Hermione looked his way with a hopeful smile, but his mind was racing. Was Neville _dating_ someone? Someone who knew a thing or two about Potions?

Malfoy and Blaise were automatically out – they had never been particularly nice to Neville and he didn't see them suddenly waltzing in and deciding he was 'friend' material, their pure blood in common or not. Was Blaise even a Pureblood? He didn't know, or really care at that moment.

There was also the fact that unless they were in sort of threesome or someone was cheating, the two Slytherins were quite devoted to each other. Harry had spent the evening trailing them under his invisibility cloak, after all. He supposed it was all kinds of creepy watching them as they made out in an alcove and then traded hand-jobs, but it was truly just for educational purposes!

…he hadn't snuck into the closest bathroom to wank, he promised!

He knew it was none of his business – while he was the closest person to Neville in their house, they didn't really have any time just for them as Ron and Hermione were always hanging about, rubbing 'The Golden Trio' bit in. He winced a bit, finally putting the timid glances, eager-to-please attitude and shy smiles together. Neville was probably horribly intimidated.

Still, he couldn't help but be curious and a little concerned. Whether or not they were especially close, Harry was his friend and he liked to take care of the people he considered friends. Subtly watching Neville from the corner of his eye, he vowed to try harder to get to know Neville. Lord knows the poor boy deserved it.

* * *

When he hadn't replied, he had expected the little idiot to take the hint. Instead, he wrote _another_ letter?! As if he, Lord Voldemort, cared about his little blood-traitor friends—_WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID HE KNOW ABOUT ABRAXAS?!_

Crimson eyes narrowed, teeth gritting and spindly-fingers nearly tearing into the sheet of parchment. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 'Our abilities'? And _what_ was this? "Sudden disinterest in me"?

Voldemort sat back, letting the parchment flutter to his desk as he cupped his chin and thought about what could be going on. Was the boy feeling lost without his annual murder-attempts? Had he really gone off his rocker, as a product of too-many lemon drops?

…had he been cursed?

It was an interesting thought, one he gave much attention. He knew quite a few that would make someone act completely out of character, but the idiot was immune to things such as the Imperius wasn't he? There was also potions and a certain plant that shed a _highly_ poisonous pollen that tended to send the victim insane as the vital organs slowly broke down.

Shaking his head, he sneered in disgust. He had better things to do then ponder over _Harry_ bloody _Potter_.

* * *

Harry was practically buzzing with excitement – he had seen Hedwig flying across to Gryffindor Tower and this time she had a letter!

…from his godfather.

Drooping, Harry took the offered letters and half-heartedly gave her a cuddle. She looked a bit put-out but didn't stay long enough tell him exactly what she thought about his moodiness. He read 'Snuffle's' short note and then Moony's slightly longer but no less vague account of their lives since the end of the summer. He knew they were both doing things for the Order, but hadn't been privy to what. He had a sneaky feeling it was something to do with the werewolf packs rumoured to be siding with Voldemort.

Pursing his lips, he considered this. It seemed like a waste of time to him – the packs affiliated with Voldemort were obviously only there because they were getting something in return and it was HIGHLY unlikely the Order could satisfy their terms. He didn't think they'd be very impressed with Remus trying to 'turn them to the Light' either.

Either way, he hoped they didn't get closer than necessary. They had been a part of Dumbledore's scheme of poisoning his mind of Voldemort's misdeeds, but he loved them and until he knew for sure they wouldn't be targeted he didn't want them anywhere near Death Eaters or anyone affiliated with them.

And that reminded him, he was not impressed about being ignored aga–_what was that stuck to the back of Sirius' envelope?_ He frowned and scratched the waxy spot, flinching back when it suddenly jumped from its place and started _bleeding_ into the paper? At first it was merely ink-spots, but then they slowly formed into harsh text.

_'Trust no-one. Not even yourself.'_

**Chapter 3/To Be Continued…**


	4. Act I: Strike Two

**Chapter Four: Strike Two  
****7 November, 1996**

_Tom Riddle really was a beautiful boy, Harry thought wistfully. He wasn't typically drawn to things like riches and beauty, but then again he supposed those things weren't typically synonymous with the Boy-Who-Grew-Up-To-Be-Lord-Voldemort. Tom may have been graced with a gorgeous face, voice and [outer] personality, but just beneath the skin was a ruthless murderer – someone who sneered upon the Light and all of their beliefs. Someone who was more than willing to use others for his own gain. Someone who knew exactly what he wanted and let nothing stop him from reaching out and grabbing it._

_Harry couldn't deny being ridiculously turned on by the thought of being with someone like that, but he wasn't only attracted to the taboo that was sex and Voldemort in the same sentence. There was so much more to them than just a rebellious teenage boy and a mass-murdering Dark Lord and he didn't care what anyone else thought._

_Why waste his time and energy explaining their complex, _beautiful_ relationship? Tom would make sure they paid for their insolence, anyway._

_"Leave," _He_ said sharply, voice echoing around the large marble hall. The gathered flocks of black dispelled quickly upon his orders, hundreds of witches and wizards apparating from the unnecessarily large room; the Inner-Circle remaining unmoving by his alter. _

_"Malfoy," Tom said silkily, almost lovingly. Harry supressed the wisps of jealousy curling at his heart and kept his expression blank, noting how Abraxas' eyes flickered to his still form for a quarter-second. "How is young Lucius? My apologies for not making it for his birthday, I was a little…caught up."_

_"Please, My Lord, do not concern yourself with such trivial things," Abraxas bowed his head, blonde curls brushing along the corners of his mask. "Lucius was of course disappointed you could not join us, but he knows how busy you are. I believe he has already written a letter thanking you for your gift – I was rather grateful myself, Merlin knows how long he's been going on about that particular book."_

_The others looked a little uncomfortable at how casual their Lord and Malfoy were, but Harry knew it was mostly jealousy. Abraxas was indulged quite a bit by Tom, almost babied, and it was even more annoying since they couldn't even gossip about how useless he was when he could easily turn around and show them exactly why he was treasured. _

_Tom waved a facetious hand, leaning forward a bit on his throne. Nagini was coiled at his side, hissing irritably when she was jostled. "I did receive a letter, yes. An invitation to dinner was included too, I believe."_

_Harry felt his lips twitch and pointedly ignored the horrible things Nagini was muttering to herself as she got comfortable again. Lucius was certainly an—_interesting_ kid, definitely a handful for his poor father. It was just like him to invite people over and not tell anyone._

_If the way Abraxas sighed was of any indication, he hadn't been informed. "Of course you are welcome, my Lord. Lucius will no doubt be thrilled."_

_Tom nodded, smirking lightly, and stood in one fluid motion. He robes fluttered around his legs and Nagini was set around his shoulders like some sort of scaly scarf. "I'll be around the usual time. Lestrange, Nott, lock up. You may leave when I'm gone." _

_Harry did not move from his place at the right of the throne. The others bowed and left, Abraxas lagging behind as he whispered something in Tom's ear. He scowled openly, not liking how close they were one bit. Realistically, he knew Malfoy had only platonic feelings of friendship for Tom and perhaps a little bit of a mentor/student bond [despite their minimal age-difference] but he couldn't help but resent him for 'stealing his spotlight' so to say. It definitely made Poker-Night awkward._

_Only when Tom called his name did he finally unfreeze and follow._

_"Come, Precious…we have business to attend to."_

Green eyes snapped open and Harry swallowed thickly, horribly disorientated and feeling a bit like he had just run a marathon. His pyjamas clung to his skin and his heart was thudding against his ribs like a drum, breath hitching constantly in his throat as he tried to get enough oxygen.

"Harry? You alright, mate?"

"Fine," he choked out, flinging himself upright and sliding his feet onto the cool floor. His dorm-mates were all in various states of getting up or dressed and Harry decided it was probably best to hurry up before he missed breakfast. He ignored any further questioning from Ron and grabbed his clothes and toiletries before hurrying to the bathroom. Turning the shower on, he shrugged off his shirt and wiggled out of his pants before relaxing under the warm spray of water.

In the seclusion of the stall, Harry smiled to himself.

* * *

That smile was long-gone by the time classes let out for lunch. Harry had just made it for breakfast and the only letters he had received were from Gringotts regarding the will of some long-lost relative he couldn't give two shits about and some sort of advertisement for an 'Erotic Shop' that had opened up in between Diagon and Knockturn Alley.

He tucked that one away for later.

Similarly, he had not received anything from Voldemort the day before either. It was rather disheartening, though after sitting down and thinking about it he may have been a little too enthusiastic with the letters. Obviously his beloved wasn't going to accept him immediately – he needed to woo him and trap him in the web before he even knew he was prey.

Besides, he knew for a fact his letters were being read and that was enough for then. If Voldemort really didn't want them, he'd send them back unopened and ward the house [or wherever he was] against Hedwig.

* * *

Far away, Voldemort was oblivious to this [logical] thought. He was staring warily at the scrap of parchment that had been dumped onto his desk by that stupid owl and had been for the last ten minutes.

He didn't know what in the hells he was doing thinking Harry bloody Potter, the thorn in his side, would just give up after being ignored. The boy was obviously a little unwell in the head and a _Gryffindor_ for Merlin's sake. It was a miracle the little idiot hadn't arrived on his doorstep already.

Grimacing, he reluctantly unfolded the scrawled note and read the chicken-scratch text.

_Happy Thursday! :D _

…

Needless to say, the Dark Lord Voldemort AKA You-Know-Who AKA He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named AKA Tom was _not_ having a happy Thursday.

* * *

The next day, Harry was up early again. He didn't have classes until ten so he headed down to the Quidditch Pitch to take his Firebolt for a spin and just have a long think. He knew gaining Draco's trust – and hopefully friendship – would be difficult with their history together, so he was trying to come up with a plan. One that wouldn't fail or only get him halfway.

They had both been a little busy with their own lives that year to really pay each other any mind [other than a few glares and a cursory 'fuck you' on the train] so he had the advantage that they had more or less pressed pause on their 'relationship', but that could be taken another way. Realistically they had both ignored each other equally, but what if Draco thought he had been keeping quiet so he could plan something big and humiliate him on a whole new level?

Not that he wouldn't have done something like that last year or the year before that one…he supposed he wouldn't blame him if he immediately thought that. He would be equally freaked out if Draco suddenly came up to him and invited him to lunch on a Hogsmeade weekend.

He needed to somehow let him know about his true allegiances without actually _telling_ him. And then there was a chance that Draco might not even plan to get the Mark…but he doubted that. Even if he didn't want it, it would probably just be easier to get it instead of dealing with the social backlash in his circles.

After an hour or so Harry landed and showered briefly in the change rooms before heading up to the Great Hall for some breakfast. It was only a little after seven so only a few people were there, mostly Ravenclaws and a small group of Slytherins. He nodded at Zabini [who merely raised an eyebrow] and slid into his usual seat beside Hermione who was yawning into her tea.

"Morning," he said, leaning his head on a fist as he scooped scrambled eggs into his mouth.

She gave him a funny look – almost accusing, before turning back to her own breakfast and stabbing some fruit. "Good morning. You're up early."

"Went to bed early," he explained half-heartedly, frowning slightly as he added some tomato-sauce to his eggs. Hermione thankfully looked away and said nothing, though he noticed how she went a little green. He didn't really see why she was so grossed out – then again after living with the Dursleys for the first decade of his life, he learned not to be picky.

"Ron says you've been spending a lot of time outside the dorms," Hermione said quietly. "I haven't seen you around either."

Harry paused, not having expected this so soon. "I've been in the library," he said slowly, truthfully. "You know…_studying_…"

She stiffened, almost dropping her utensils. Sucking in a shaky breath, she pushed her plate away and gave him a long, slow look. "And what did you find?" she whispered, as if they were being closely monitored.

"Oh, you know, a little of this and that," he said dismissively, acutely aware of the people who had turned rather boldly to watch then. Zabini was keeping a close eye on them too, he was sure. He perked up a bit when he heard the familiar brushes of bare feet on stone. "Hullo, Luna. Bit cold for that, no?"

Hermione turned away as if she couldn't quite bare to look at the approaching girl. Harry didn't understand how she could just…ignore it.

"Harry," Luna acknowledged, blinking slowly and tilting her head to the side as if just seeing him. She glanced down at his plate and gave a little bemused smile. "What a curious way to eat eggs."

"Want to try some?" he asked pleasantly. She nodded and slid onto the bench beside him, not seeming bothered at all when he didn't offer her the fork but fed it to her directly instead. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before nodding with all the seriousness of a morgue-attendant.

"Are you going to finish that?"

"Go ahead," he said graciously, allowing her to take his plate for herself.

He pretended not to notice when Hermione gave a small huff and left.

* * *

"You did what with Luna?!"

Harry rubbed his forehead, resisting the urge to glare up at Ginny. She was towering over his seat in the Common Room – thankfully mostly empty – and looking as if she had just lost the biggest bet of her life.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said shortly, snapping his Transfiguration book shut. After breakfast he and Luna had taken a walk around the border of the Forbidden Forest, chatting about whatever pleased them. She had even given him some advice about how to approach Draco – of course, he didn't tell her the whole story but he was relatively sure she knew exactly who he was talking about.

Luna was Luna, after all.

"You _fed_ her! Like _lovers_!"

"We're not dating," he rolled his eyes. "Why are we even talking about this, Ginny? Neville did the same thing just last week."

She looked a bit flummoxed, but shook her head determinedly. "I don't like the way you act around her. She'll just end up hurt, you know."

"How?" he said, baffled. "Luna knows how I feel about her – and by that I mean as a very good friend."

"But how do you _know_ that? You're horrible at communicating feelings, Harry! For all you know, she's waiting for you to ask her out already!"

"Luna isn't," he said tiredly. _But you are. _

"You can't—!"

"I'm gay, Gin. Luna knows this – hell, Luna's the one who _told_ me."

Ginny snapped her mouth shut, teeth clicking audibly.

Well, if that wasn't the sound of dreams dying, what was?

**Chapter 4/To Be Continued…**


	5. Act I: Strike Three

**Chapter Five: Strike Three  
****12 November, 1996**

It was a Tuesday. Harry had a free period that particular hour, so he was sitting in his usual spot in the library and pretending to do his Charms assignment. He had already completed it, but didn't want the group of students sitting at the table across from his to think it was alright to come up and bother him.

Of course that didn't stop them, but only the braver ones tried to sit after his spiel about 'losing against Voldemort because some Ravenclaw bint kept interrupting my studies and I missed the section about anti-Death spells'. A few tripping and sneezing jinxes later and he was blissfully alone again.

Hermione said he was being anti-social, but he just couldn't handle the general stupidity of the school population after it got out that he was a 'shirt-lifter'. There hadn't been outrage so much as nearly being raped around every corner. After the nth attempt, he had hexed that minute's idiot and plastered 'Pillow-Biter' across his forehead. His girlfriend hadn't been too pleased, but the attempted butt-poundings had skid to a halt and now people were merely nagging at him to confirm the rumours or not.

Curiously, Slytherin House had participated little in the jeering, wolf-whistling and rumours. Malfoy had been giving him funny side-eyes but said nothing and from he could see, the others were taking his lead and staying out of it. He supposed it could be because making fun of someone for their sexuality was pretty pathetic and they had better taste than that, but he wasn't holding his breath.

"Hullo, Harry."

Glancing up, Harry raised an eyebrow as Cho Chang came into view. She was standing behind the chair directly across from him, smiling coyly and clutching a thick book to her chest. She looked as she always did, though there were still shadows in her eyes – shadows that wouldn't fade until she accepted Cedric's death.

"Cho," he greeted, spying a few of her friends standing a little aways, uncertain of what to do. "How are you?"

"Oh, good," she said distractedly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if we could talk."

_Well, fuck me with a bee-hive_, he thought miserably. Harry nodded anyway and closed his textbook, hoping she would get it over with if it was clear he was paying absolute attention to her.

Alas, it wasn't to be for she took a ridiculous amount of time pulling out the chair and sitting down, settling her bag on the floor and gently laying her book across the desk. His blood ran cold the second he saw the title.

_The Mysteries of Sexuality._

Malevolence welled up inside of him and Harry fought the urge to take out his wand and curse the bint. He had had enough of this nonsense from Hermione and Ginny, he didn't bloody well need it from Cho 'Queen Bee' Chang. There wasn't anything mysterious about it at all! He wanted hot, rough, grunt-y man sex!

Preferably with the Dark Lord Voldemort, but he wasn't picky. Lucius Malfoy, Viktor Krum, Marcus Flint…_oohh_, _all the things they could do…!_

"Harry," Cho said softly, shattering his day-dream and reminding him of his earlier disgust. "There are quite a few rumours going around, you know…and I was wondering if I could make peace with my mind by asking you about them?"

"Ask away," he said, smiling unpleasantly. She didn't seem to notice, perking up a bit and tilting her head to the side; fluttering her lashes.

"Is it true," she said, whispering conspiringly, "that you're…gay?"

"Yes."

Shock flitted across her expression for mere seconds before melting away, replaced by something like indulgence. A funny smile quirked at her lips and she reached out a hand, patting his forearm in a distinctively condescending manner. "I'm so glad you've accepted this about yourself, Harry. I mean, I always had a feeling…I didn't say anything though, because I didn't want you to feel awkward. It's really none of my business, either."

Harry wanted to rip his arm back and say that _yes, it was none of her business_, but he kept quiet and let her continue.

"You were raised by muggles, too, weren't you? They have some funny ideas about it."

"Oh yes," he said, lowering his eyes in false-modesty. "They do say some nasty things…your father a muggle-born, isn't he? You must know a lot about their prejudices."

She flinched back as if burned, expression twisting in shock and horror. "N-no, of course he's _n-not_ like—"

"Oh would you look at the time, I have to go," he drawled, gathering up his books and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It was nice talking to you, Cho."

_Not_. What a bitch, he thought irritably, hurrying through the library to the exit. The halls were mostly empty, though a few students were hanging around outside of classrooms. He still had some time before his next class so he decided to wander around a bit.

It was just his luck he'd see Malfoy coming in from the quad. He felt his bad mood dim and watched curiously as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode down the corridor. Harry considered going the other way, but shrugged that thought off after a moment and decided to follow him.

He'd have to talk to Draco sooner or later and it wasn't often that he was alone.

Despite this, he didn't openly trail the other. It was entirely possible Malfoy was meeting someone or going into Snake territory and that meant that Harry needed to keep in the shadows. Briefly, he admired Draco's arse but lifted his gaze when it was apparent he'd end up getting lost if he didn't pay attention.

They travelled for a few minutes before Malfoy slowed and stepped inside a room – the third-floor's restroom. Harry waited an inconspicuous amount of time and then pushed open the door, heading inside and letting it swing shut behind him.

It wasn't the largest bathroom, but it was equally spaced and nice enough. Malfoy was finishing up at one of the urinals, apparently oblivious to his entrance as he zipped himself up and re-buckled his belt. Harry headed for the sink and rolled up his sleeves, catching the other's eyes in the mirror just as he turned around.

He broke contact after a second and went on as if them being alone wasn't a big deal, turning on the tap and pumping some kind of citrusy liquid-soap onto his hand. "Malfoy," he said tonelessly, working up a lather before rubbing his thumb over an ink splodge on his palm.

"Potter," Draco replied, sneering slightly. He pointedly turned his head away, choosing the sink a few squares down. Then, almost cordially: "Your girlfriend camped outside of the Slytherin Common Room to ambush me this morning."

Now Harry wasn't expecting _that_. He choked on a confused snicker, nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. "My girlfriend? You mean Ginny?"

"Hm. She was spouting some codswallop about me cursing you and then threatening to have me expelled if I didn't 'fix' you."

"Curs—_Oh_," snorting, Harry turned off the tap and grabbed the towel that appeared beside the sink. "I'd apologise, but I imagine you all got a good laugh out of that."

"Not going to defend Weaselette?" Draco scoffed, though there was a strange glint in his eye as he tilted his head to look at Harry.

"I'm not in charge of Ginny," he said simply. "What she does on her own time is none of my business. Though, I suppose this time it sort of is. I hope no-one actually thinks you – or anyone, really – cursed me."

Shrugging jerkily, Malfoy dried his own hands and tossed the towel into the little basket under the counter. He studied himself in the mirror, eyes sliding to meet emerald as he absently fixed his hair and straightened his tie.

"I'm sure it hasn't even crossed some people's minds. It's not uncommon – homosexuality, I mean. Can't say why I would even do that…it's not like I'd get some kind of satisfaction out of it."

"Because you're with Zabini," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. He knew he was walking on thin ice when those pewter eyes turned into shards of granite. "There would be no reason for you to curse me unless you planned to make me fall in love with you and that's pretty pointless when you already have a lover – unless, of course, he's merely a fuck-buddy."

Draco sneered, turning to face him fully, hand clenched against his thigh where his wand was probably resting in his pocket. "Don't be so crude, Potter. What's it to you anyway, me and B—Zabini?"

"Nothing," he said, keeping his expression light. "Just curious is all. Which reminds me…this thing between us, this rivalry – how about we call a truce?"

"A truce?" Draco shot back immediately, looking a bit like he would have fallen over if the counter wasn't there to support him. He paled a bit, eyes flashing with something he couldn't discern before his stance became even more defensive. "_What the fuck_, Potter? Did you hit your head or something?"

"I know that we have a lot of history," he continued, looking him straight in the eye and refusing to look away. "We've disliked each other from page one and it's unlikely we'll ever get along…but this is getting ridiculous. I frankly don't have the time or effort to continue such a pointless fight and from the looks of things, neither do you. Don't you get tired of being so hateful all the time? I'm not saying we have to suddenly start ignoring or liking each other, but…no more pranks? No more deliberately sabotaging each other?"

Malfoy was staring at him as if he had suggested they put on a charity play for sick muggle orphans.

"Of course, I don't expect you to do it for free. I'll do something for you…but you have to do something for me in return."

"What?" Draco asked suspiciously, though he had relaxed somewhat. He was obviously used to making deals like these.

"I want an Oath first," Harry said firmly, feeling his cheeks heat. Despite everything, he was still a bit embarrassed about it all.

Draco looked like he wanted to refuse, but then pulled out his wand and held up his hand. Harry did the same and they said the Oath, wands spluttering at the end of their words before a long string of magic was drawn from the tips of their respective wands and gently twined around their wrists. It snapped and the Oath was complete, but they could both still feel the other's magic on their flesh like a bracelet. It faded after a moment and Harry nodded to himself, absently checking they were still alone before turning back to his impatiently waiting once-enemy.

"I want you to teach me about Wizarding customs – dating, marriage and all of that. Also about how homosexuality is regarded…"

"That's it?" Draco said, pale brow furrowing. "You could find that in the library, you dolt!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry shook his head. "I want the information _first-hand_. We'll discuss it more at a later time. I have to go soon, so let's finish this up. What do you want in return?"

"And I can have _anything_?" Draco asked, expression curiously blank.

"You can _ask_ – I won't commit a crime or do anything humiliating."

"I reserve the right to let you know at a later time," Malfoy announced importantly after a moment of silence. "Nothing illegal or humiliating," he said begrudgingly when Harry looked at him pointedly.

"Fine. Truce?" he said, holding out a hand.

Draco stared at it silently, almost fearfully, before slowly raising his own and curling his fingers around his hand. "Truce."

* * *

Harry went to bed that night with a pleasantly full belly, the satisfaction of knowing that his plans were finally moving along and the _slightly-less_ satisfying knowledge that he was still being ignored by his beloved. As the days passed and he became steadily more annoyed, he had started sending at least five letters a day – though, not all were letters; more like notes.

His last had been a carefully crafted 'Goodnight' that he sent off with a school owl since Hedwig hadn't returned yet.

Closing his eyes and relaxing into the mattress, he was immediately absorbed into the shadowy world where Tom didn't dare ignore him.

_"Welcome back, Precious." _

**Chapter 5/To Be Continued…**


	6. Act I: Curiouser and Curiouser

**Chapter Six: Curiouser and Curiouser  
13 – 23 November, 1996**

_Dear Voldemort,_

_How is Your Highness? Well, I hope – it'd be a little anti-climactic if you just dropped dead after everything that's happened :P I'd be forced to willingly help Wormtail bring you back! Maybe this time with a nose!_

_It's been a bit busy this week, so I thought I'd just summarize what's been happening in my life – not like Malfoy hasn't been tipping you off anyway, but I'm sure not even he knows everything that I go through on a daily basis. The most important, however, is that I've been outed to the entire school and subsequently, the whole Wizarding World as a shirt-lifter._

_[I don't know if you're 'with the times', so in case you didn't know, it means that everyone knows I'm gay.]_

_There was a lot of commotion, as you can imagine. Mostly being molested around every corner and guys I've never even seen before trying to 'have my babies' but I managed to slow it down a bit. Ever since Malfoy [the shorter, high-strung one] and I became maybe-sorta-friends everyone has been keeping a distance anyway. He has a set of lungs on him, you know, and they gave up after the third 'DON'T TOUCH ME YOU LITTLE MUDBLOOD-FUCKER!'_

_Oh, I suppose I should tell you about that. We're not enemies anymore, yay! Not exactly friends either, but I followed him into the bathroom and after some 'convincing' we agreed on a truce. We're having lunch in Hogsmeade soon, too!_

_There's some other stuff too, but it's pretty boring so I'll spare you the details. _

_Signed,  
Mrs. You-Know-Who_

_P.S That bit about you being 'with the times' – don't worry about it, I like my men experienced. And with noses…but we'll work on that one._

* * *

Lucius was very nervous – he hadn't been this nervous since his Initiation, and even then he hadn't had much to worry about! He had known his Lord since he was a small boy thanks to the fact that his father had been his classmate and then personal Healer after school, but any feelings of affection and familiarity were lost upon his initial resurrection it seemed.

He supposed the coldness and excessive punishment was due to the fact that he had basically betrayed him, the man he had looked up to nearly as much as his father, but even after all the rituals he was treated only a little better than that idiot Wormtail. Now, he was suddenly being called in – at such a late hour, too! – after months of only being summoned with the rest of the Inner Circle. He hoped this wasn't about Draco taking the Mark.

He was fond of his son and he liked to think he knew him better than others, so with this knowledge he was aptly aware of how—_unqualified_ he was in the ways of death and torture. He had the taunting and cruelness down pat and a good deal of self-preservation…but Draco just wasn't Death Eater material. He was squeamish and horrible under pressure and would most likely mess up and end up dead for his failings.

Oh dear Merlin, Lucius needed to think of something else. He couldn't go in looking as if he were about to have a panic attack – or worse, start whining about his failures as a parent and how he couldn't even get his son into the family business.

He knocked shortly on the door of his Lord's office and took a moment to smooth out his expression and slow down his racing heart.

"Come in."

_He sounds angry_, Lucius bit back a whimper. He quickly twisted the doorknob and shut the door behind him, falling to his knees before the large desk – compensation much? – and bowing his head. "My Lord, it's an honour—"

"Cut the crap, Malfoy. What has your son told you about the boy?"

"Uh—he hasn't had much to report," Lucius said weakly, brushing off his robes and careful not to meet crimson eyes. "Just that he has been acting strangely and seemingly distancing himself from the mudblood and Weasleys'."

"His latest letter?" Voldemort demanded, thrusting out a pale spindly hand. When the short length of parchment was close enough he ripped it out of the air and raised a hairless brow at the content.

_Dear Father,_

_Blaise is an arsehole. _

_Yours,  
Draco _

_P.S Potter has gone crazy._

"This is from today?"

"Yesterday," Lucius said hurriedly. "The fifteenth, my Lord. Today's content was not of the boy at all…"

Voldemort dropped the letter onto his desk and steepled his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table-top and propping his chin up on his hands. Lucius remained where he was in the centre of the room, trying not to fidget like he had as a teenager whenever he was overly-excited or anxious. Vaguely, he realised Draco had probably picked up that trait.

Finally, Voldemort said in an overly-controlled voice: "You are aware your son and Potter have become—friends? They have called a 'truce'."

"I-I—"

"Obviously not, then. Well – according to the letters the idiot-boy has been sending me, he somehow convinced Draco that they would be better off as allies."

"…excuse me, my Lord, but did you just say Potter has been sending you letters?"

Voldemort had felt as confused as Lucius looked in the beginning, but now he was just resigned to the situation. Perhaps even interested – in a morbid, 'I-have-nothing-better-to-do' way. "I did. Your son is right in the regard that it looks as if Potter has gone mad; he mails me every-day, multiple times a day. He's sent a few small 'gifts' too, I think. This is where you come in."

"Yes, my Lord?" Lucius straightened, teeth clacking together as he snapped his mouth shut. _What the fuck...had Dumbledore fed the boy too many Lemon Drops?_

"First, I want you to tell your son to continue with this—allegiance. He is to study Potter and note anything – absolutely _anything_ – that he thinks may contribute to this…situation." When Lucius nodded and murmured his understanding, he continued: "When you have finished with that, I want you to take this stack of envelopes-" he gestured to the pile at the corner of his desk "-and test it for all of the common tracking and spying charms. If you find nothing, as I suspect you will, come back and I will give your further instruction. Also…"

* * *

Harry couldn't move – couldn't speak, hear, think. His entire being was frozen.

The eagle-owl squawked irritably, thrusting his leg out imperiously and flexing his clawed foot dangerously. Harry fumbled to get the letter free, hissing when his finger was sliced on the way. He shoved it in his mouth and glared half-heartedly at the pompous bird as it launched itself off his bed and flew out of the open window.

The others were still down in the Common-Room so he had at least another half hour of 'alone time'. Sucking in an excited breath, he flopped down on his bed and used sticking-charms on his curtains so no-one could sneak up on him. Seamus didn't always learn the first time.

Setting down his wand, he carefully peeled off the wax-seal and gently pulled back the lip of the envelope. It was stiff, expensive stationary and Harry didn't doubt it wasn't used for every-day letters. When he got the length of parchment out he held it to his chest for a few moments before gingerly unfolding it and hungrily taking in the neat script.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Please desist in sending any more letters._

_Regards,  
M_

Harry stared at it uncomprehending for at least five minutes before it sunk in. He flung himself back into his pillows, squealing happily and grinning at the canopy on his bed.

He had gotten a response! _He was in!_

He couldn't wait to tell Tom.

* * *

"Hey Malfoy," Harry greeted cheerily, flopping down in the empty seat opposite his once-enemy. "Sorry I'm a bit—whoa, what happened to you?"

Draco glared up at him under pale lashes, obviously murdering him in his mind before turning back to carving crude words onto the table with a fork. He was paler than usual and his clothes were a bit rumpled, as if he had thrown on whatever was clean.

Harry accepted a Butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta with a quiet 'thank you', keeping a close eye on the other boy. He had heard some rumours about a confrontation in the Slytherin Common-Room, but hadn't had a chance to ask about it – now, he didn't really want to. Malfoy could be a bit of a drama-queen but surely he wouldn't neglect his appearance over something even a normal person would think silly?

They sat in silence for what felt like a small eternity [which was probably only ten minutes] before Draco sucked in a shaky breath and said harshly: "Well? What did you want? I don't have all day, you know!"

"I just wanted to hang out," Harry said, keeping his voice unthreatening and unassuming. "Do you…wanna go back or something?"

"…no," Draco muttered, dropping the fork and rubbing his face. "Whatever. How's things going on over in Gryffindor? Weaselette still pestering you?"

"Oh yes," Harry groaned, rolling his eyes. "Stalking me, too. If I hadn't been extra sneaky she would probably be sitting across from us right now."

Raising his eyebrows, Draco gave him an almost empathetic look. "You know, I always wanted someone to want me enough to stalk me, but after seeing it happen to you I'm so glad us Slytherins' have more class than that."

"Enough class to do it subtly at least," Harry snorted. "Constantly under the watch of by Vol—You-Know-Who and his little followers, remember?"

Draco stiffened, eyes widening a bit. His expression twisted in something like anger, teeth gritted and hands clenching on the table-top. "You…didn't say his name?"

"Makes people uncomfortable," he said easily, smiling vaguely as if he didn't understand what the big deal was. "Ron and Hermione and them are used to it…I figure I shouldn't use it with others if it scares them so much."

He half expected Draco to splutter out protests that it _didn't_ scare him, but he merely stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful before nodding and looking back down at his hands.

_He knows something_, Harry thought. _He's not Marked though…not yet, at least. Not at all if I have my way._

"So," he said brightly, "you figure out what you want, yet?"

Draco shrugged a bit, eyes flickering to his wrist where he could _still_ feel the soft ring of magic from their Oath. After a moment he looked up and forced a smirk, grabbing his nearly-full bottle of Butterbeer and downing a quarter.

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't complain, taking back it when Draco set it on the table. He raised it in a salute and took a sip, grabbing a coaster from the little basket to their left and putting it down directly in the middle of the table, the bottle following. A long moment passed before spindly fingers gingerly grabbed it around the neck and a small sip was had. Harry didn't even wait for it to be discarded, letting his fingers brush Malfoy's cool ones as the bottle was passed over.

Their eyes met and Harry smiled. Draco didn't, but he did relax in a way Harry wasn't sure he had ever done in the presence of another person.

They continued passing the bottle back and forth.

**Chapter 6/To Be Continued…**


	7. Act I: The Next Level

**Chapter Seven: The Next Level  
29 November, 1996**

Harry awoke slowly, vaguely aware that it was a Friday and he had Potions first thing. He knew immediately that he was running late and flung himself upright, ripping his curtains open to see that Ron and Seamus were still there. He sighed a bit in relief, knowing it couldn't be that late if Dean hadn't come back to wake them.

Yawning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes and wincing as his head throbbed in response. He had felt a bit ill in the previous days, but it was neither getting worse nor going away so he was at a loss of what to do. He stood slowly and moved to his trunk, getting out clothes for the day and checking that all of his assignments due were in his books.

"Oh, hullo Harry," Neville said, stepping into the dorm. A towel was thrown over his shoulder and his hair was still slightly damp, uniform shirt hanging off his shoulders and trousers unbuttoned.

It wasn't all that of an unusual sight – Neville was often up and about before him and in the years following their initial announcement of being roommates he had gotten more and more comfortable with being unclothed, but what was revealed due to his partial nudity had him gaping like a fish out of water.

"What?!" Neville asked, flushing red and looking panicked. "Do I have something on my face?! Did someone—?!"

"Is that a _hickey_?" Harry breathed, a rakish grin spreading across his face. A fading red spot was visible on his collarbone, a calculated move he was sure since no-one would see it – if he were wearing a shirt. "You _dog_, you!"

Neville spluttered incoherently, ripping his shirt to cover his chest and grabbing the lapels to keep it closed. "H-Harry—"

"Don't look so embarrassed," he said, amused. He turned back to his trunk and finished up, grabbing his wand from under his pillow at the last minute. Glancing up, he said casually: "Seamus is always covered in them, mate. I'm curious though – who's the lucky lover?"

If Neville noticed how he didn't name a gender, he didn't let it show. He shuffled his feet, looking much like a tomato, and fiddled with his towel. "Well…er, I don't really wanna say anything…you know, I'm not sure...um…"

"I get it," he nodded, smiling at the relived look he got. "When did it start, if you don't mind me asking? You've been pretty quiet this term, so I assume you've been meeting up quite a bit?"

Neville blinked, pausing on his journey back to his bed and trunk. He looked surprised that Harry would have said something like that, eyes flickering uncertainly between him and Seamus who was snoring away. "Oh…you noticed that?"

"Of course!" Harry said, wincing a little. He needed to spend more time with Neville…

"Er, well, mostly. We started talking towards the end of June and then we saw each other during the summer hols…"

"Neville," he said somewhat awkwardly, not really sure what to say and how to phrase it. He had had a lot of realisations that summer and he really did want to continue beings friends with Neville – hopefully better friends. He knew for a fact he needed all the allies he could get when it got out where his loyalties lay. Realistically he knew he couldn't predict Neville's reaction – he had been effected by Voldemort badly too – but he could only hope his Hufflepuff loyalty would step in. Absently, he wondered when he had started thinking about people in such a…_Slytherin_ way.

"Look, I don't really know how to say this…so, I'll just be blunt. I know we haven't really had the chance to be all that close, but I really appreciate your friendship and I want you to know that I'm here for you – whether or not you feel the same way is a moot point. If you ever need anything or just want to talk or any of that awkward girly stuff, then…I'll support you, yeah?"

Harry could see him going all misty-eyed, as if he couldn't quite believe it and yet wanted desperately to. Neville gave him a watery smile and nodded.

"…yeah."

His headache suddenly seemed unimportant next to the satisfaction flooding his body.

* * *

"Harry, my boy, could I speak to you in my office?"

It was almost curfew and Harry was walking back from the library where he had actually been studying for once. Ever since finding the Half-Blood Prince's potions journal he had been getting better and better at Potions, so he figured he might as well work on theory too.

Now, he was paying for his ignorance to the time by being accosted by Dumbledore in a dim hallway. His weathered hand rested atop his shoulder, building heat in the most uncomfortable way. Harry's skin crawled and he fought the urge to frantically shake it off and make a run for it. He didn't know how he had handled the man's touch before.

"…yes, sir," he had no choice but to agree. He sped up after turning in the direction of the Head Office and nearly sighed in relief when the hand was forced off his person. They walked in silence, Dumbledore's eccentric robes swishing around his feet and even brushing against Harry's legs.

Hiding a grimace, he silently apologized to his beloved before entering Dumbledore's office. The door clicked shut behind them and he felt his heart speed up – he felt a bit like those girls looked before they were slaughtered in the horror movies Dudley liked to watch. He sat in his designated chair, body stiff and ready to flee at any moment. Was the sweat cooling on his neck and face visible?

Dumbledore didn't seem to notice and if he did, made no comment. He took his time sitting down, tidying up his desk a bit and rearranging his robes before finally sinking down with a soft _fwoosh_. He conjured a ceramic bowl out of no-where, smiling in that suspiciously-kind way of his. "Lemon drop, my boy?"

'My boy'. Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice. He felt ill at the words, irrational feelings of disgust bubbling in his stomach and threatening to spill over. He wouldn't put it past the old coot not to poison the sweets either.

Dumbledore sighed, peering at him over his spectacles and lacing his hands. "Harry, your godfather asked that I inform you about current Order business."

Harry perked up a bit, mind racing a mile a minute. After spending two summers at Grimmauld Place already and not being allowed to participate at all, this was exciting. _Were they finally going to include him?_

"As you most likely already know, Voldemort has not moved since the middle of the summer-break. He seems to be staying in the same place and there have been few raids – I think he's biding his time and planning something. I'm sure you would tell me, but have you felt anything strange with your scar?"

Harry knew he had to be careful. Looking curious and slightly afraid wasn't hard since he was feeling those emotions – perhaps for different reasons than Dumbledore thought – but he had to satisfy the man's nosiness with half-lies and made sure not to look into his eyes. He didn't know much about Legilimency, but he knew for a fact Dumbledore practised it. How else would he know so much?

"My scar?" he shifted a bit, glancing off to the side in a show of awkwardness. "It…it's strange, sir. It's not hurt for a while now…"

"But something else has happened?" Dumbledore prompted, leaning forward a bit. "You can tell me, Harry. Even if you think it's insignificant."

"Well…it's sort of tingled? And I've been having strange dreams…but nothing like when he—Voldemort—loses control and I see through his eyes. There is no pain…"

No lies here, though it was stretching the truth a bit. It wasn't really like when Voldemort sent him visions, but it was similar in the way that he knew he wasn't just 'dreaming'.

"Dreams? What about?"

"Murder. Genocide. Torture." He said quietly. "But they're just images…there is no sound and no emotions."

This was true, too. It was like being in one of those old black-and-white films, the picture crackling a bit and expressions and movements telling the story.

Dumbledore seemed to be contemplating this, before he smiled kindly. "Do not worry over it, my boy. The connection between you two…not even I fully understand how it works. It is possible you are dreaming what he dreams."

_A sensual thought, but not likely seeing as the executioner wears my clothes._

"If you're sure, sir," he said, feigning relief. "I had thought…I didn't want to think about what it would be if it wasn't his doing…"

"There is no doubt in my mind that he is responsible. Go now, it's time for bed. Goodnight, Harry."

_Perhaps you just don't want to admit your Golden Boy might not be so Light after all…_

"Goodnight," he smiled thinly, internally delighted he was allowed to leave so soon. Dumbledore really could drag their meetings out and he just was _not_ in the mood for that at the moment. He left quickly, loosening his tie and collar as he passed through the dim halls. His chest eased up somewhat and he swallowed thickly, a little worried about his strange reaction to his once-mentor's presence. He hadn't really noticed anything like that before, though after his summer realisations he had lost any and all trust in the man.

Still, to feel physically _ill_…

He shook his head; he would keep an eye on it but he had other things to worry about. Like how someone looking suspiciously like Malfoy had just ducked around the corner. He contemplated what to do, wanting to follow and appease the curiousness he had been feeling since Draco started acting funny but also knowing if he was caught out after curfew he would be questioned and most likely given detention. God forbid Snape find him! He had backed off somewhat since taking over Defence but they were far from being chummy.

He hesitated only a second later before quickly following. He cast a soft silencing charm on his shoes and a fairly strong Notice-Me-Not on his person, heart speeding up when it seemed as if Draco had disappeared. He heard a nearby door close and froze, waiting impatiently for foot-steps and then realising it must have been someone entering the room. He forced himself forward and peeked around the next corner, eyes widening when he saw the entrance to a fairly-unknown restroom.

Did Draco have a talent for sniffing out unused bathrooms or something?

He crept towards the door and pressed his ear up against the wood, sucking in a steadying breath as he prayed the door wouldn't suddenly fling open and shatter his nose. He couldn't hear anything, however, and slowly twisted the handle. If Draco saw and questioned him, then he'd merely Obliviate him or – since he really didn't want to curse him – say he was hiding out from his friends and saw him duck inside.

To his relief and suspicion, Draco wasn't in plain sight. The bathroom was a lot bigger than he expected, tall and echoing with black marble sinks and to his fascination, a mosaic serpent slithering from corner to corner on the far wall. He heard quiet sniffling and the crackling of loo-paper as it was yanked off the roll. He slipped inside and gently closed the door, heart thumping as he pressed himself to the wall.

Was Draco…crying?

Harry didn't know what to do. In all the years he had known Draco Malfoy, he had seen him in a lot of emotional states. Fury, irritation, mortification, shock, delight, malicious glee and misplaced superiority, but he had never seen him _cry_. And unless his ears were playing tricks on him, this wasn't merely a few tears and a sniffle or two – this was outright sobbing! He could _hear_ the snot doing that awful thing when you cried and had to blow your nose!

He was starting to rethink his offer to Neville about being there to talk and comfort him. He didn't think he could handle the hysterics that came with tears.

A stall door suddenly slammed open and Malfoy stumbled out, heading for the sinks and blindly fumbling with the taps. The snake on the wall hissed irritably and the tap was suddenly gushing water, startling Malfoy and dragging a shocked squeak from his throat. His head snapped up and their eyes met in the mirror. Vaguely, over the buzzing in his head, Harry wondered when he had come out of his hiding spot.

Draco had his wand out in record time, expression furious and belying the hastily dried tears on his face and the vulnerability in his eyes. "_Diffindo_!"

Harry just barely dodged the spell, distracted by the way pewter eyes widened and horror replaced fury. Draco flung his wand away and threw up his arms, hands shaking as he dropped to his knees. So distracted was he that Harry couldn't even throw up a shield, hissing as the severing charm sliced into his thigh.

He toppled to the floor, clutching his leg and grunting when his weight hit the tiles with a _thump_. Draco's wand rolled to a stop a few feet away but he barely noticed, too busy trying to figure out if he needed to see Madam Pomfrey ASAP. Horrified at the amount of blood spewing from the wound, he let out a choked gasp and fumbled for his wand, mind flying through all the spells he knew. What was the—?!

_Vulnera Sanentur_, a soft voice uttered in his mind. On the verge of hyperventilating, Harry finally freed his wand and slapped it over the gash. He shouted the spell, fear flooding his body and heart stuttering when it faltered and died out.

Suddenly Draco was beside him, grabbing his leg and holding it at an angle as he choked out a spell Harry had never heard before. He had grabbed his wand on the way, hand shaking slightly and teeth gritted as he repeated the incantation like a prayer. It must have worked as he intended for he let out a shaky breath and quickly wiped the accumulated blood away from the wound with his damp sweater – Harry only then realised that he had ripped it off.

"Do it again," Draco demanded, eyes wide and face unusually pale. "Potter!"

"_Vulnera Sanentur_!" he spluttered, cursing when nothing happened. "_Vulnera Sanentur_, _Vulnera Sanentur_!"

Finally the wound started to knit together, blood congealed slightly from Draco's spell. He wiped off the wound again, looking up hurriedly when Harry winced with a pained grunt. They watched as a long pink scar formed on the skin, blood starting to dry on his trousers and around the newly-formed flesh. Slowly they relaxed and Harry collapsed on the floor, panting heavily and clutching at his chest as his heart spluttered before starting to settle down.

The silence was deafening, fear and anger and leftover terror crackling between them. The mosaic snake hissed then, long and slow and insulting them down to their roots before the gushing tap was finally silenced with a small squeak of the pipes. Water was overflowing from the sink, dripping across the floor and nearly reaching them. Harry was reminded of the Chamber of Secrets and closed his eyes, feeling fear fade to disbelief.

"I can't believe you did that," he muttered, feeling suddenly very tired. His head was pounding and funnily enough his scar was burning insistently, but he couldn't think of the implications at that moment. He just wanted to sleep. And maybe cuddle. Preferably with Draco. He was kind of cute when he was freaking out over nearly killing someone.

Draco said nothing, possibly more shaken than Harry. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out other than scratchy-sounding gasps. He reached out all of a sudden and grasped his hand from where it rested on his chest, fingers curiously cold and palm clammy, squeezing almost painfully tight.

Harry squeezed back, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

Well, this certainly hadn't gone well. He'd sort this all out tomorrow…now, he just wanted to complain and whinge at Tom for pity until he was [reluctantly] allowed back into their bed. Honestly now, he'd only called out 'Voldemort' as a joke. It wasn't his fault the idiot was so sensitive about his identity-crisis.

* * *

Voldemort finally sat back down, yew wand clutched in his hand and eyes unfocused as he snuck out of the idiot boy's head.

He needed to talk to Lucius. _Now_.

**Chapter 7/To Be Continued…**


	8. Interlude: My Shadow

**Interlude – My Shadow**

_Harry knew he wasn't in a regular dream even before he 'opened' his eyes. He was lying on something soft but firm and cocooned in warmth, limbs heavy with sleep. He lay frozen for what felt like a small eternity. Where was he? _

_…was this another vision?_

_Reluctantly, he peeked from between his lashes. The room was dim, but he recognised the canopy of a bed and spied some kind of arched ceiling. A large chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, candles flickering softly and casting shadows. Slowly he sat up, blankets peeling off his body and almost slithering back onto the bed. He glanced around suspiciously, looking for something familiar._

_He knew he wasn't in Hogwarts anymore, knew he had never been in the room before, and yet he felt no real fear. He was content even – almost as if his brain hadn't quite realised the situation. Area-wise, the room was actually pretty big. Expensive dark-wood furniture was dotted around the room, a set of double-doors directly across from the bed with another normal door to the left, perhaps leading to an en-suite bathroom or closet. A desk and two empty bookshelves bordered the right side of the room, an unlit fireplace between two large windows. It was dark outside._

_No…nothing could be that dark, could it? He tried to move closer, to see the void that was on the other side of the glass—_

_He heard a sudden whistle and flinched, eyes wide as they swung back to the doors. Was someone else – wherever he was? A house? A mansion? _

_He stood on shaky feet, vaguely aware he wasn't wearing socks. The carpet was soft under his feet, making no sound as he slowly approached the exit. His hand brushed the left knob and he gasped as magic flashed through his hand, briefly causing a spasm. He clutched it to his chest, heart thumping, and sucked in a deep breath before trying again. This time it was more of a pleasant tingle and he twisted and pulled the door open. He was immediately assaulted with the scent of jasmine tea and warmth, despite the hallway being as dim as the room. _

_Slowly, he stepped into the hall and glanced both ways before inching towards where he could hear someone moving around in what sounded like a kitchen. The soft _clank_ of teacups on a granite counter, the _fwoosh_ of water being poured and slight hissing of steam as it washed over the teabag. Light-footed feet strode along tiles, the quiet rustling of cloth not seconds behind every step._

_Harry crept to the end of the hall, ducking slightly behind an overly-stuffed armchair. The house apparently wasn't as big as he thought for the hall led into a sitting room and an attached kitchen and seemed to end there. He spotted his companion immediately – a tall, thin man with neatly combed chocolate-brown hair and a poor complexion if his hands were anything to go by. He wore a long black robe, fitted slacks and…no shoes? His feet were also startlingly pale and almost slender; hands large with long piano-fingers and manicured nails. _

_He turned his head then, showing off a perfect profile. Harry knew without a doubt the man was gorgeous – and _terrifyingly_ familiar._

_Sapphire met emerald and suddenly, Harry felt as if the world finally shifted into place after an eternity of anti-gravity. He felt alive – as if his body had been a corpse and the house a shell, suddenly lit by a fire so bright and hot that it scorched the end-bits of his fragile soul. _

_"Hello, Harry."_

_He was expressionless, face significantly doll-like with his sharp, sculpted features and eyes like blue marbles – piercing and empty. He was both young and old, ageless, his aura swirling with the bitter-sweet wisps of jaded wisdom. _

_Harry knew there was something horribly wrong. A dead man walking, fixing tea in a house he had never seen before and yet felt like home, looking at him as if he held all the answers. _

_"Tom Riddle," he whispered, voice echoing ominously through the house. Even as he said this he stepped forward, drawn to the strange man and his air of someone who had been waiting a lifetime for that moment. Even as he said this, he wondered if he were right. This man looked exactly like the arrogant teenager he had faced, yet they were so different – older, calmer, crueller. Even as he said this, he smiled._

_His eyes flickered with some kind of emotion – Disgust? Fear? – before dimming and returning to their glass-like state. He spoke in a low, resonating voice that grabbed Harry from deep inside with an iron fist. "I was called that, once upon a time." Then, without giving him a chance to respond, he asked: "Do you want some tea?"_

_"I—" he spied the tea-set and the clear jar of tea-leaves. They were sullen and grey; crumbling. "—…no."_

_Tom looked down at the already-filled cups, and smiled. _

_"…good."_

* * *

_Tom, Harry decided, was a strange creature. Their time together was one long season of endless ticking, neither day nor night despite the fact that they went to bed when the clock struck twelve. And only twelve._

_There were rules, Tom had said in a low, cruel voice. Rules that Harry had to obey and respect and if he didn't…he was silent, but Harry had a feeling he knew what would happen. He was safe in the house that felt like home, but Tom, who had been there since 'the eve of autumn'…_

_Tom never broke the rules._

_When Harry visited, it was always sometime in the 'morning' or 'afternoon'. He would wake alone, never with Tom, and then bathe in the scented water that waited for him in the luxurious tub. Clothes would appear and he would dress in the trailing robes, feet always bare and ankles hung with crystals and bells. They made no sound as he walked, though Tom always knew when he was near. He would look up from the book he was reading or from where he made tea and gave him a long, slow look before continuing with his 'day'._

_Harry was never told of the rules._

_He supposed it was ironic, though feelings of irony and humour were always lost when he awoke in the silken sheets of Tom's bed. He was expected to follow unnamed instructions, and pay for insolence with a life not his._

_Watching Tom stare out into the void beyond the window, he couldn't help but think of the house as a prison._

_Did that mean he was the warden?_

* * *

_"Do you want some tea?"_

_This was a usual occurrence. Harry shook his head, curled up on a soft-leather armchair before the fireplace as he watched Tom finish up with 'dinner'. He had been shocked to see the stoic man pottering around like Mrs Weasley, but had since gotten used to it. The house was always clean despite them not having a maid or elf, though it looked as if everything else was up to Tom, including cooking and taking care of Gerald. _

That_ had been another – perhaps not nasty, but shocking – surprise. He had woken the second week after his arrival to find a grumpy white snake curled up on his chest, hissing disgusting things in his ear and pondering whether or not to take a bite out of him. Tom had appeared before any damage was done, though Harry didn't think Gerald would really have eaten him._

_After all, Harry was the one who created him._

_He was a good five feet of albino scales, possibly of a Honduran breed though Harry wasn't sure. He had the most sarcastic, irritable temperament Harry had ever come across in an animal [not that he'd gotten the chance to talk to a lot of them] but it was amusing – when he didn't try to strike him, anyway._

_Gerald slithered into the room then, grumbling angrily when it was apparent Tom had little time for him. He very grudgingly approached Harry, curling around his calf and climbing up onto his lap to coil around his neck. His scales were cool against his skin and Harry glanced at the fire, pleased when it immediately erupted with heat. There was no such thing as wands in the house, as Tom had very reluctantly informed him, and everything was done with wandless magic and hopeful thinking._

_Tom sat down across from him, setting down a tray on the coffee-table between them and picking up his book from where he had left it on the arm of the couch. It was a thick volume with a blank, puke-green dust-jacket. As far as Harry knew [and had seen] the title-page was void of any kind of writing, too._

_Absently stroking Gerald, he watched Tom as he chewed mechanically, tea-cup in hand and book balanced on his knee. The tea was rather grim looking, far more than Harry was used to. It was the colour of…nothing. It was what you got when there _was_ no colour._

_Tom took a sip of the liquid-cement and swallowed smoothly, though a grimace tightened his mouth and furrowed his brow slightly. _

_Harry looked away._

* * *

_Tom was in one of _those_ moods again._

_Harry stood just outside the living-room, unable to watch but very aware of the tea-sets smashing against the walls and the furniture that burned yet never caught aflame. Gerald was hiding under the bed, his hisses audible even over the ruckus Tom was creating. It was a small house, and sound travelled quickly and efficiently._

_It was a small cell for an innocent man._

_The sounds suddenly stopped and Harry peeked around the corner, eyes wide and child-like as he took in the damage. He felt like a small boy again, waiting for his uncle to pass out after drinking too much – it didn't happen often, but when it did Vernon was one scary fucker. Tom had the same rage in his eyes [the only emotion he freely showed Harry] and he had quickly learned to make himself scarce during his…moments of weakness. _

_Harry stepped over the invisible line separating them – Harry and Tom, Tom and Harry – and crossed to where he was sitting on the pile of wood that had once been the coffee-table. He was staring into the fireplace as if it had all the answers, flames roaring and hot enough to melt the flesh from his face it seemed. When Harry looked, he saw that his eyes – the pretty jewel eyes that matched his – were flat and dead; colourless._

_Just like the tea._

_"Tom," he whispered, laying a hand on a broad shoulder and gently gripping the fabric of his robes. "Tom, let's go to bed okay. We're going to lie down, alright? Come, Tom, let's—"_

_"It's not twelve yet."_

_It was the first time he had spoken to Harry since he awoke that morning, his voice gruff and hoarse from all the screaming he had done – horrible, furious wailing that was like nails within his heart. He and Tom were connected, connected in ways he didn't understand or care to – why would he, when it made so much sense when he woke up in the silken sheets and went to sleep beside him? – and the emotions that he was forced to feel were always…soul-shattering._

_"Alright," Harry said, in a gentle voice he didn't know he was capable of creating. He sat down next to Tom, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his forehead to a proud jaw. He felt his scar smoulder and Tom flinched before sagging in his hold as if all the energy had been drained from him._

_They sat like that for a long time, the fire eventually burning out and the room growing cooler. Finally, the clock struck twelve and Tom rose automatically, expression unreadable. _

_Harry allowed himself to be led away, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the wreck that was his haven. He knew it would all be fixed in the morning._

_But Tom wouldn't._

* * *

_His hands were trembling, heart stuttering and blood sluggish in his veins. As if in slow-motion, the book was snatched from his grasp and flung across the room, his body slamming into the book-shelf and head tilted back as if an invisible wand was held to his throat._

_Tom spun on his heel and walked away, footsteps seemingly never fading. Harry couldn't think of the consequences of his snooping at that moment, he was more concerned about the handsome blonde man fucking _his_ Tom within the pages of his puke-green book. The book he read at every meal diligently, as if it were some kind of bible._

_Harry felt ill. It was like dunking his head into a Pensieve, except the memories were in his mind and so much more…real. At first glance it was just a blank book from cover to cover, similar to the diary, and yet one wrong brush of the fingers and he was thrust into a darkened room where the sounds of sweaty flesh slapping sweaty flesh and gasping pants deafened him. The smell was awful, overpowering and musky and all sorts of frantic pleasure, something you might find within a werewolf pack. It was like…sex. _

_The sight was something out of a dim medieval smutty romance novel, though the fair, virtuous maiden was none other Abraxas Malfoy and the dashing, devilish prince-charming was Tom Riddle, school-tie still hanging around his neck and trousers pushed down to his ankles._

_There was a part of Harry that wanted to be betrayed…and yet, there was another part of him that welcomed the idea. The teenager within the memory had the same face, but his Tom was different. His Tom wasn't a stepping-stone to the future or a blood-lusting child who tried to suck the soul out of a pathetic little girl._

_His Tom had already been defeated. His Tom had already _overcome_. _

_Slowly, he stood straighter and turned to the bookshelf. He knew what all of the unopened books were now, and he would gladly enter the realms of his companions past. He wanted – _needed_ – to see what else had been overcome, what other phases had been staged. Waxing, waning, crescent, full…_

_Tom, his prisoner, deserved as much as to be understood._

_He just didn't know it yet._

* * *

_"What are you doing?!"_

_Harry flinched, nearly dropping the jar in his hands. He quickly dumped the rest of the tea-leaves into the drain, yanking on the tap and watching in satisfaction as the globs of grey [reluctantly] was washed down the channel._

_Tom shoved him aside, eyes wide and panicked as the pipes creaked and groaned before the tap automatically closed and all that was left was a soft _drip-drip-drip_. He stayed there for a long time, staring into the sink as if it would bring the awful concoction back._

_And then he turned on Harry._

_He was like a huge cat, a leopard or a puma – ready to strike and very much enjoying the hunt. He looked all shades of crazy, lip curling back from his teeth and eyes glinting with an emotion Harry couldn't name. All he knew was that if he said the wrong thing, pulled the wrong move, dream-world or not it would be the end of him._

_Tom was whispering things to him; cruel things that made his throat close up and his lungs constrict in his chest. Tears clung to his eyelashes, eyes wide and wet as they refused to look away from the predator. Tom made a dive and grabbed his neck, yanking him so their mouths were only a hairs-width apart, lips brushing together as he spoke._

_Harry was starting to get dizzy from the lack of air. His vision was blurring and he felt as if he had been dumped underwater, yet he never broke eye-contact. He watched with a morbid fascination as those jewel-eyes flashed all different colours before settling on crimson. _

His_ crimson._

_"…trying to fix someone who's not broken. Is this what you do, to take your mind off the fact that your situation could be considered worse? Do you ever consider that, hm? Of course not. Harry Potter, Saviour of us all, couldn't possibly be taken advantage of. Couldn't possibly be—_broken_. Broken by your most trusted."_

_Harry couldn't hear anything over the pounding in his ears. He was gone, waking up all alone in his bed with only a headache for company._

* * *

_When Harry was finally allowed back, he awoke to a curiously warm bed. Upon further inspection he realised there was no-one lying beside him, but the sheets were still warm and he sighed, rolling over to lie on Tom's side. Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of a strong, pale back. Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the void past the window and fingering an empty tea-cup that would usually begin his morning ritual._

_This time, and for the week before that, Tom hadn't been able to fill the cup._

_"It was controlling you, you know," Harry said quietly. "Like the Imperius. You were a slave…and I set you free."_

_"This world," Tom replied flatly, "is an extension of your mind. I will always be a slave to you, as long as I reside inside. The tea, the ashes of my past life, reminded me of my duty to his cause…"_

_"What duty?" Harry laughed bitterly. "He can't hurt you, he can't find you! You're _free_!" Then, "Why won't you let yourself…go?"_

_Tom stared down into his empty cup, tracing the faded patterns with his eyes and brushing over the rim with his thumb. He said nothing for a long time, as if holding his breath, before saying in a soft, puzzled voice: _

_"…I hate tea."_

_Harry closed his eyes. _

_"I know."_

**Interlude/To Be Continued...**

* * *

**EDIT: This chapter is set over a few months, from July - present. Harry is not in a coma or comatose state; these meetings happen in his normal dreams.**

This chapter is dedicated to **_Imperial Mint_**, one of my favourite authors in the NARUTO fandom. Her story '**_Understanding_**' inspired some of the themes in this chapter, and I was delighted when she gave me permission to use them. Be sure to check out her works if you like ItaNaru or even just a well-written fic! [Her fandoms include: NARUTO, One Piece, Merlin, Doctor Who, Attack on Titan etc.]

Thoughts on the story so far? Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback so far :) Every review/follow/fav means a lot to me! Hopefully here's a bit of insight about Tom :D


	9. Act I: Gross, Teenage Angst

**Chapter Nine: Gross, Teenage Angst  
November 30 – 4 December 1996**

Harry was annoyed. _Very_ annoyed.

After resting in the bathroom for a half-hour Draco had cleaned him up and snuck them out, though it took a ridiculous amount of time to get to Gryffindor Tower due to the Prefects patrolling and Snape who had seemed to sense them and kept nearly busting them. Finally they made it, but Harry had to walk the last corridor by himself in case they were seen together. Hermione and a few others were still up, immediately asking where he had been, however he hadn't been in the mood and went up to bed where he had crashed.

The morning came slowly, and he spent most of his dream-time with Tom. It was still early when he awoke, so he went to bath, taking his time cleaning up and scrubbing the irritating film that the cleaning charms left off his skin. His leg was curiously healed except for a thin white scar.

It wasn't that he expected anything else, but it had been his first time using the spell and neither he nor Draco were particular talented at Healing. He had a sneaky feeling Tom had been involved…not that the bastard would have told him. Oh no, he would expect Harry to just know and wax-poetic about the whole bloody thing. But then again, he had been acting a bit strange…

Draco had nearly jumped him before breakfast, dragging him into a broom-closet and checking him from head to foot as if he had been hit by the Knight Bus and not just suffered a small scratch that was already forgotten as far as he was concerned. After that he had practically stalked him, popping up throughout the day in the oddest of places and refusing to leave his side when he went to write his usual letter to Voldemort in the library. Luckily, he hadn't asked who he was mailing and didn't try to peek either, more concerned about some assignment for a class they didn't share.

That night, the thirty-first, Harry didn't get a chance to see Tom. Instead of sitting before the fire or watching some memories from the 'Don't Fucking Touch if Tom's in the Room' collection, he was forced to watch as his newfound friend was tortured and berated for 'stepping out of line' and 'acting higher than his station'. Draco took it all without protest, absolutely terrified and shaking in pain and fear; face red with humiliation and eyes alight with tears.

He couldn't help but be flattered, despite it all. Voldemort was torturing _for_ _him!_

Draco had come back that same night, he assumed, half-heartedly healed and with some horse-shit idea that he was supposed to avoid Harry as if he were the plague. No talking in class, no making ridiculous faces at each other as Binns droned on and certainly no standing at the same row of urinals if they happened to need to take a piss at the same time.

He thought it would only last a small while, Draco may have been a Slytherin but he also broke the rules quite a lot, but two days passed and Harry realised Draco was serious about this.

Harry, for the first time in a seemingly long time, was genuinely angry at Voldemort. He was like Dudley, chasing off potential friends and turning those who had been soft with him against him. He liked interacting with Draco and now his bully of a Dark Lord had scared him off.

Arsehole.

Closing his Charms textbook and pushing his chair back, he ignored the baleful glower Zabini was casting him from beside Nott. He frankly didn't have time for his shit – even if it was curiously unexpected. He needed a good long sulk and then he'd start figuring out how to lure Draco out and trap him.

* * *

_Dear Voldemort,_

_You are an arsehole. _

_Signed,  
H_

_P.S. Lucius, tell Draco to stop avoiding me. I can't mother him if he keeps hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle every time I try to talk to him. _

_P.S.S Note the change of penname. I hope you feel the chill in the air. Brrr._

Lucius sat back, stunned. Of course he had seen the many—_strange_—letters his Lord had been sent, but none of them had _insulted_ him. And how the fuck did he know—

"Well?"

"Er, perhaps you should—"

"Now, Lucius!" Voldemort hissed, still agitated from that morning's meeting. "Do _not_ make me repeat myself!"

He cleared his throat and read the short letter, stumbling a bit over his Lord's name and practically whispering the slur. He noted his reaction out of the corner of his eye, feeling somewhat satisfied when he also puzzled over how he knew about Lucius' involvement. Well, there was his little note to the idiot…but he hadn't really expected him to guess it was him…

Voldemort said nothing however and contemplated the content, leaning back in his office-chair and crossing a leg.

"Your son has been trying to…get the boy's attention since his first year, yes?" Voldemort said suddenly, breaking the silence and nearly making him break the nib off his quill as he quickly filled in some of the paperwork he had been asked to file in the Ministry. It seemed that was all he was good for, those days – not that Lucius was complaining [all that much], he had just always preferred being out in the field. He supposed it came with being – he shuddered – _middle-aged_.

He chose to ignore the fact that he wouldn't be considered middle-aged in the Wizarding world until his late fifties, at least. A few of his own potions added to good genes wouldn't digress, either.

Or…was it not that he was _old_, but was he getting too _fat_ for field-work?! He knew he wasn't as fit as he had been in his Quidditch days, but he tried to keep in shape and chasing after Draco in his toddler years had certainly kept him from being a lazy alcoholic—

"I believe so, my Lord," he said quickly, aware that he had been lost in his thoughts. He really did need to get another shipment of leeches the next time he went into Knockturn—focus, Lucius! He's on to you!

"He had a rather clever idea to slowly convert him, I seem to remember," he added, not the least bit alike that of a preening student under his mentor's scrutiny. "Obviously, Potter very rudely—"

"Would you say they have a…passionate relationship?"

"I—um," Lucius floundered, "My Lord, my son is not _involved_ with Potter, he—"

"Obviously, boy!" Voldemort hissed, blinking when Lucius flinched back in surprise at the scolding tone. A hopeful look entered pewter eyes and he quickly went on: "I meant, was Potter as dedicated to their little war? Did he feel strongly for Draco? I already know of Draco's feelings on the matter."

"He…retaliated, my Lord. I'm sure he started some of their fights, too. He is always ready to defend his little mudblood and Weasleys'."

Voldemort considered this, things he had already known and now had confirmed. He couldn't even be angry at the slur when the reason for the slur was so much more interesting.

What the hell had happened to the boy?

And more importantly, who was messing with _his_ nemesis?! Honestly, you'd think people would know by now!

* * *

It was officially December. Harry was excited for the holidays, though he was also slightly apprehensive. Did Voldemort even celebrate Christmas? He certainly hoped so, or there would need an intervention to be had! The Malfoys' did, he was pretty sure – he had a sneaky feeling that was more to do with the fact that almost all magical families did and not the birth of Jesus Christ, however.

Despite Christmas being weeks away, everyone was pumped for the season and talks of gift-shopping and how everyone was celebrating was common in the halls and outside of class. Mrs Weasley had already sent word that everyone would be at Grimmauld Place for the winter break and Harry was looking forward to it, traitors or not. He knew even if he got Voldemort to celebrate it just wouldn't be the same as the homey feasts and warm, excited atmosphere with the Weasleys'. He hoped after the war they'd still be around – they would always have a special place in his heart, even if Ron was being a twat about his friendship with Draco.

Speaking of Draco…

"Fancy meeting you here."

"FUCK!" Draco screamed, literally jumping a few feet in the air and nearly tripping over himself. He pressed his back against the wall and stared wide-eyed at him, face paling worryingly before flushing crimson as his eyes narrowed and his expression twisted in anger and mortification. "You—!"

"—have been waiting for you to stop being a prat for days. _Honestly_, Malfoy – he punished you a bit, screamed at you in that scarily calm voice of his and told your father off for 'letting' you attack me. He didn't tell you to stay away from me!"

Draco gaped at him, brain visibly working to try and analyse the situation. Minutes passed in a tense, fearful silence, their gazes locked – one infuriatingly nonchalant and the other petrified – before Draco suddenly huffed shakily and glared at him weakly. "Trust you to know about it…"

"I have my sources," he said airily. Narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips, he continued: "Well? Are you going to snap out of it or do I need to…_convince_ you further?"

Draco shuddered, knowing exactly what kind of 'convincing' that would be. He scowled and lifted his chin defiantly, but his expression faltered not a second later and Harry was horrified to see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Uh…Malfoy—"

"Blaise is such an arsehole!" he wailed, flopping down the wall and burying his face in his knees. "I keep coming back late because of you or Father, and someone told him they saw me talking with a girl from Ravenclaw! If you weren't such a cocky bastard you'd notice it's not just _you_ I've been avoiding!"

_Oh_. Harry winced, glancing around the empty hall before crouching beside Draco and laying an awkward hand on his trembling shoulder. "Come on, let's go to the bathroom. Anyone could chance upon us."

Draco refused to cooperate at first, and Harry huffed irritably, yanking him to his feet and dragging him to the nearest restroom. Lanky arms were strung around his neck as Draco blubbered into his shoulder, sobbing various curse-words and repeating what an arsehole his boyfriend was – or ex-boyfriend, for all he knew.

He locked the door behind them and headed for the sinks, helping Draco up onto the counter before checking they were alone. He got some loo-paper from one of the stalls and passed it over, standing awkwardly to the side as the Slytherin blew his nose and mopped up his tears; all the while complaining and whining about how 'I just can't get a break! Isn't your seme meant to be all-knowing and shit?! But here he is, breaking my heart – IF YOU REPEAT THIS TO ANYONE I WILL DENY IT PROFUSELY AND TELL YOUR LITTLE GIRLFRIEND ABOUT THAT MAGAZINE I SMUGGLED YOU! – and-and he's such an _arsehole_! Father was right, I should just be single forever!'

Harry choked a bit at that, trying to picture Lucius saying such a thing. Didn't he expect Draco to marry and have a kid to continue their blood-line?

He would never admit it, but it was rather amusing to see Draco flailing around, cursing his boyfriend and pausing every now and then to check his face in the mirror for 'puffiness'. It was still highly awkward though – tears would definitely be his downfall.

"Is this what had you so upset the other night?" Harry asked, when the cursing and sobbing settled down. Draco made a funny choking sound and gawped at him, eyes still a little red from crying – Harry frowned a little, wondering about why Draco was suddenly so emotional – and mouth gaping.

"I'll take that a 'no' then," he said, vaguely amused but also concerned. Draco looked genuinely afraid, as if he expected him to laugh or—something. "But it was Blaise, right? Somehow?"

He doubted it could have been anything else, since Draco brushed everything else off as not worth his time. Unless it was family or Death Eater related…but he wasn't hot on that.

Nodding slowly, Draco glanced away, scowling a bit. "I don't even know why we're together, sometimes," he admitted quietly, tone dark.

Harry definitely wasn't expecting _that_. "What? Aren't you guys…I don't know, in love or some shit?"

Grey eyes widened somewhat before Draco shrugged jerkily, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know…nowadays it's as if all we do is shag and fight. That time in History, when you were perving on us…that's not really normal for us…"

Harry wanted to argue – he had been _observing_! – but he was more interested in the gossip, to be honest. This was certainly news to him; he had thought they looked awfully good together, certainly an attractive couple and the way Blaise had been looking at him…

Oh good lord, he needed to stop reading the romance novels he found in Hermione's trunk.

"Maybe you've just hit a rough patch?" he suggested after a moment. "You can't get along all the time, it just wouldn't be…natural. Maybe you need to take a break – and then, if you still want to be with him and he still wants to be with you, you can get back together."

"Look at you, Healer Love," Draco said, a hint of his old sneer twisting his lips. He sighed and broke it however, staring down at his hands. "But he'll think I really am cheating on him if I say I want to break up…"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "If he's taking everyone else's word over yours, then it just shows how little he trusts you, doesn't it? You need trust for a relationship to work and if he's being an arsehole about it all, then isn't breaking up for the best?"

Draco drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on his folded arms. "He's going to hate me," he muttered brokenly.

Harry felt as if he were missing something big – there was also the fact that he would never have thought Draco was having relationship-problems. That was Slytherins for you, he supposed. He didn't know Zabini at all, but he had a feeling Draco wouldn't go – willingly – for the sweet, cuddly type. He sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He hoped he wouldn't have to ever go through this with Voldemort. He would probably off himself.

Draco lifted his head then, glaring at him in a watery kind of way. "You're a really shit friend. Aren't you Gryffindors, like, cousins of the Hufflepuffs? Pat my head and coo nonsense at me, you prat!"

For a very brief moment, Harry felt sorry for Blaise. A _very_ brief moment – Draco looked ridiculously adorable and if he weren't currently involved [and very much in love with the idea of being on the tail-end of Voldemort's cock] he'd totally go for that.

Draco looked as if he were about to speak again and he quickly hurried over to give him a cuddle. He was a lot cuter with his mouth shut.

Was that a _purr_? Oh yeah, Zabini didn't know what he was missing.

**Chapter 9/To Be Continued…**

* * *

So...nine chapters and literally fuck-all has happened ;-; I don't even know what to say. I had planned for this to be a standard-length fic, but it looks like it'll probably be a long one...Well, I also want to develop the characters...so hopefully I'm at least getting that done? Draco will be a big part of the fic so I'm trying to make their relationship stable before shit hits the fan.

[crickets chirping]

I just wanted to ask, does it seem like I'm dragging this out by the toenails? I can't really tell and I wouldn't want this to become a tedious, super slow-paced fic!

Also, I've noticed this story has taken on a more serious edge than I originally planned. This was supposed to be a funny-awkward fic, but now...there will still be some really cracky bits, have no fear, but I'm sorry to anyone who only wanted really bad humour :( It won't become super angsty or anything...I hope...


	10. Act I: Surprise!

**Chapter Ten: Surprise! [Or More Bathroom Bonding]  
5 – 6 December 1996**

_Dear Voldemort,_

_Happy Holidays! [I know, early, but I thought I'd get it in there.] _

_How's taking over the world going? Dumbledore has been nagging on me about visions and dreams, so you must be keeping real quiet wherever you are. I'm relieved, to be honest. If you started doing that perpetual bad-guy thing of telling the master-plan to the exact detail right before killing the protagonist, I'd have to slap you. Or fuck you into submission. Ooh, ideas…_

_Of course, it'd be more topping from the bottom. As gorgeous as your arse was back in the day, I'm quite happy to sit back and let you do all the work – for rewards ;) Draco's been…'educating' me. But don't worry, it's all been very professional! He has his own boy-toy (or is it the other way round? Zabini might be older…) and as handsome as he is it'd be just too weird either way._

_I'm heading out with some friends to Hogsmeade for some Christmas shopping soon – this Saturday, I believe the plan was. Just letting you know in case you want to drop by :D I'd be totally okay with letting big ol' mean Snake-Face take me hostage. We could have kinky sex against an alley wall! _

_Joking aside, I'm sure you've noticed that my last few letters have been much friendlier than that one from a couple days ago. I accept that you will handle your ducklings as you see fit, but Draco obviously didn't mean to hurt me and he certainly wasn't trying to do 'your' job. Just keep in mind that the next time he comes back freshly-tortured, you'll be sleeping on the metaphorical couch. No more letters or presents until I think you've learned your lesson!_

_[…this makes me think of a teacher/student roleplaying scenario. Care to indulge me, Professor?]_

_Much affection [I saw this on one of Draco's letters from his mum],  
Harry  
[Lord of the Noble House of Potter  
Consort of the Dark Lord Voldemort]_

_P.S **THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT!** Do you like green or brown better?_

* * *

Lucius stared down at Draco's latest letter, frowning at the formal text. It was an excruciatingly simple summary of his week with the cursory 'how are you' and 'hope you're doing well' thrown in. There was nothing about Zabini – normally Lucius would be glad; they were a good match appearance-wise, but he tired of his son's gushing rather quickly – and even less about Potter.

What bothered him the most, however, was how his son had ended the letter.

_Nott and I are paired for a project in Ancient Runes and since it counts for almost half of our marks this year, I was thinking about staying at Hogwarts for Yule to work on it. I'm sure Mother will be disappointed, but I could always Fire-call her from Professor Snape's office._

Since when did Draco willingly suggest skipping out on lazing at home, eating sweets and opening presents? And _of_ _course_ Narcissa would be disappointed! She had been shopping for him since October! Dropping the letter, he leaned back in his chair and tapped the desktop.

He hoped whatever had infected Potter wasn't contagious.

* * *

Harry yawned, idly brushing the end of his quill over his cheek. He was horribly bored, but that wasn't unusual in History of Magic.

Binns was droning on as always, apparently oblivious to the fact that not even Hermione was paying attention. Notes were being passed around, couples were snogging in the back and hushed conversations were happening all around. Ron and Hermione were sitting on his right making kissy-faces at each other, ignorant to his disgust. Teenage angst was pathetic, but 'you hang up, no _you_ hang up' was even worse.

He glanced over to the Slytherin side of the room automatically, seeking out his friend. Draco had been unusually quiet, even quieter than before the bathroom incident. He was pale and withdrawn, not even snapping at Pansy when she nicked his pot of ink. Zabini was in the row behind him, expression indifferent – though really, Harry hardly ever saw anything else on his face.

Harry frowned and rifled through his bag for a new sheet of parchment. He spent a moment folding it and making sure it would stay and then opening it back up again, dipping his quill in some ink before scribbling in the corner and blowing on it to dry quicker. Folding it back up following the indents, he muttered a soft spell and watched as the note zoomed across the room.

Draco was so out of it he didn't even jump when it smacked him in the face, merely looking down when it fluttered down to rest on his desktop in mild disbelief. He unfolded the parchment, fumbling a bit to find the writing as he wasn't familiar with the muggle-style design. Harry had chosen the 'fortune-teller' design randomly, mostly because he had never made one before and he had always thought it was interesting in primary school.

"Is that a fortune-teller?" Hermione whispered, breaking his concentration. Harry reluctantly looked away from Draco, meeting inquisitive and slightly suspicious brown eyes.

"Yeah," he replied. "Didn't think I remembered how to make one."

"I never learned," she said somewhat distractedly, smiling a bit when he raised his eyebrows. "Loner, remember?"

Ron interrupted her then, asking what it was, and Harry was drawn back to his friend when the note landed on his desk. Draco wasn't looking at him when he took a peek, but he looked even tenser than before if that were possible.

_I'm fine. Don't write to me, Blaise is glaring holes into my back._

And he was, Harry realised with amusement. Zabini seemed to be trying to set him on fire and as if sensing his gaze, glanced his way. His glare darkened, chin raising defiantly. Harry smiled back.

Inking his quill again, he wrote: _You're not 'fine'. Meet me on the third-floor bathroom at 15:00?_

The response came much quicker than he expected, probably a minute after he sent it off.

_I don't need you and your Gryffindor idiocy butting into my business._

_Well I'm sick of you being a little bitch all the time._

Draco paused upon reading this, staring down at the note for a full two minutes before seeming to come to a decision. He caught Harry's eye and nodded shortly, dropping the fortune-teller into his bag just as Binns told them to start packing up.

Harry headed off to Divination with Ron in tow, blowing a kiss to Draco on the way out. A few people laughed and Draco scowled, cheeks pinking, but he also looked amused – until Zabini came up behind him.

Harry wanted to hang back and step in, but Draco blatantly ignored whatever his boyfriend had said and snapped for Crabbe and Goyle to hurry up so they could walk him to Arithmancy. Smirking, Harry nodded to himself and left.

Ron was glancing at him suspiciously from the corner of his eye the whole journey to the Divination classroom, only seeming to gather his courage when they were seated in the half-empty attic-room.

"Look, mate…are you and Malfoy, you know, _together_?"

"And if we are?" Harry said evenly, running a hand over the crystal-ball that had been placed in front of him. Lavender fluttered her lashes, but he ignored her and watched as it went completely clear. _Weird…_

Ron was quiet for a moment, completely red. He seemed to be choking on something – probably his prejudice against Slytherins. "Then—then, that's your business," he said weakly.

Harry knew immediately he was lying through his teeth. He sat up straighter, feigning relief and smiling widely at his 'best mate'. Inside, he was wondering just who had told Ron to question him. Most likely Dumbledore or Hermione, but his mother and Sirius, if he caught wind of what was going on, could also be involved…

"We're not," he said truthfully. "We're just…friends. He's alright, once you get past the whole—you know. I figured if we were friendly he'd be more likely to tell me about what his dad's up to."

Ron grinned, perhaps a bit cruelly, interpreting his words as he intended. "Yeah, I get it. Bloody hell, I thought you were going Slytherin on us or something."

"Nah, just keeping an eye on things," he assured. Trelawney entered then, and he turned his attention back to his crystal-ball. To his surprise, multiple colours were swirling around – the most dominant being brown and green.

His eyes widened and Harry felt a quizzical smile cross his mouth. The smoky colours fled and only green remained, pin-wheeling in the centre of the globe before seeming to blow away in a gust of wind.

_Show-off_, he thought fondly.

* * *

Voldemort was scheming.

He had long-since realised that indulging the little idiot was the right way to go and now he was trying to figure out just how he was going to do it. The boy's latest letter was certainly interesting, giving him a few ideas on how to get it started. He obviously wanted to be closer to him, so he figured if he gave up insignificant facts here and there, made it seem as if he were opening up, Potter would feel included.

His ultimate goal was to kill him and finally get the bloody show on the road, but he was also [reluctantly] very interested in the sudden change of heart. The boy could prove useful in the downfall of the Light and that fool Dumbledore, but he didn't want to use an unreliable tool. If it was all an act [which he doubted, considering what his little trip into the boy's mind showed] then he needed to proceed with the utmost caution. He certainly didn't want any surprises and Gryffindors were known for brief moments of intelligence.

Idly tapping the thick cover of the book under his forearm – the Black Grimoire of Mind-Magic and Pseudo-Golems, courtesy of Narcissa after a trip into her sister's old hide-away – he considered his next move. He didn't have anything pressing to attend to at that moment, so he was free to divulge himself in a few 'side projects' which may or may not include…_re-creating_ himself.

He missed his nose.

* * *

Whistling a tune he had heard during the summer, Harry made his way to the third-floor boys' bathroom. He was twenty minutes late, but he figured Draco wouldn't be too upset. He had looked pre-occupied with the letter that arrived for him at lunch and if it was anything distressing than he would probably appreciate a little while to collect himself.

Glancing around to make sure no-one had tried to follow him, he slipped inside the bathroom and quickly locked the door, silencing and warding charms going up next. He couldn't do much in ways of protection, but he knew enough that no-one could overhear or try to come in without him being alerted via his wand.

He paused upon hearing a soft sniffling. He frowned in confusion before realisation struck.

_Oh for the love of Cod and all his holy Mackerels._

Trying to tone down his annoyance – honestly, when had Draco become such a little bitch?! – he made his way to the stalls, peeking under the doors until he saw a pair of familiar loafers.

"Draco?" he said, wincing when his voice came out unnecessarily sharp. "Draco, are you okay?"

"Go away!"

"Don't tell me what to do, idiot," Harry grumbled, leaning against the door and sighing loudly. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Is it Zabini again? Do I need to kick his arse?"

"…you w-would do that?"

"Sure," he said, thinking about it for a moment. "Or, I could get the twins to send me some pranking material."

Draco didn't reply, but he heard the tearing of loo-paper and then a watery chuckle. "Dye his hair for me, yeah?"

"Any particular colour?"

"…blue…or pink."

Harry straightened, not liking the bitter tone at all. "Draco," he said, voice tight and lilting in worry. "Draco, open the door."

"It is open," he said, voice muffled. Harry quickly twisted the handle and threw it open, closing it behind him and leaning back against it when he took in the state of his friend. Draco looked awful.

His bag was on the floor, robes and jumper thrown on top as if he had just ripped them off. He was sitting hunched on the toilet-lid, loo-paper scrunched in one hand and head tilted downwards, eyes tracing the tiles on the floor. His hair was mussed as if he had been running his hands through it continuously, face red and lips chapped. His eyes were wet and puffy, tears still clinging to pale lashes.

He looked up then, giving Harry a lop-sided self-deprecating little grin. "I must look like a mess. I've been in here since the end of lunch…"

_He skipped class…this really isn't good_, Harry thought worriedly. Draco may have been an arrogant twat, but he worked for his marks and that meant going to every lesson religiously. He was probably pressured to do well in school – no, he _was_ pressured, thinking back to Second Year.

"What's going on?" he said quietly. "You don't have to tell me, but then I need to go get someone – Professor Snape, Parkinson, whoever."

"No!" Draco said, voice breaking and eyes widening in a panicked, deer-in-the-headlights expression. "No, you can't tell _anyone_!"

"Then let me help you," Harry replied evenly, internally wincing at their situation. How…_plebeian_. "Just—trust me, okay? I'll take an Oath, if you want."

Draco laughed bitterly, dropped his head and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "You and your 'saving people' thing. Not everyone needs Scarhead to come to their rescue."

Harry remained silent. Draco was upset, like a wounded dog he would become aggressive to try and ward off more hurt.

They remained so for what could have been minutes or hours. Harry eventually sunk to the floor, crossing his legs and slumping back against the door. He set his bag beside him and dug a half-eaten Chocolate Frog from his robe-pocket, nibbling on the side as he waited for Draco to finish gathering his courage.

He spoke so quietly Harry nearly didn't hear him, and for a moment he thought he had misheard.

"I think I'm pregnant."

Oh.

"At least three months," Draco continued miserably. "I have all the symptoms – and a few others – but I can't know for sure without being checked out by a Healer."

"Is this why Zabini is being all pissy?" Harry asked, pushing away his absolute shock for that moment. Draco obviously wasn't joking around and even if it wasn't possible like he had previously thought, it was very real to him. Harry knew from experience that as long as you believed it, it didn't matter if it were real or not.

Draco snorted, though it came out more like a sob. "No, I haven't told him. He doesn't want kids, you know. Thinks they're a waste of time and money."

"Well then," Harry said kindly, "he's a bit of a twat, no? If you are…pregnant, and it's his, then he'd have to take responsibility."

"Of course it's his!" Draco shouted, then flinched and shook his head. "If I am pregnant, then it'd be his. I'm _not_ a whore, Potter!"

"I know you aren't," he said, narrowing his eyes somewhat. "Who thinks you're a whore?"

"Everyone will, if this gets out," Draco muttered, eyes shining with fresh tears. He wiped them away hastily, hands trembling. "The only people who don't think I'm a cheating arsehole are Crabbe and Goyle, and only because they trail me around so much that they know I'd have no time for that shite."

"Why _do_ they trail you around?" Harry asked distractedly, eyes softening with sympathy. He knew what it was like to have everyone believe another's word over your own.

Draco lifted his head, smirking viciously. "My father pays them to make sure stuff like this doesn't happen."

Harry felt his stomach drop. No wonder Draco had been such a mess the last month, he couldn't even _imagine_ Lucius' reaction when he found out! Never-mind being underage, having a child out of wedlock would probably give the man an aneurysm!

Draco must have recognised his expression, because he sighed shakily and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "He's going to murder me," he said brokenly. "My mother will give me the silent-treatment and then eventually come around, but he's going to toss me out on my arse and I'll be begging on the streets for Knuts."

Harry thought that was a bit extreme, but then again you could never be sure. Lucius Malfoy was a bastard – Harry had yet to see if he was that much of a bastard, though.

"Well, if he kicks you out you could always come stay with me," Harry offered without thinking. "And your kid too, if you really are up the duff."

Draco looked like he had suggested they elope and become a part of the Bratva. "But, don't you live with…_muggles_?" he shuddered.

Harry laughed – he couldn't help it. He grinned up at Draco, only getting more amused when he looked offended. "I've got vaults filled to the brim with gold, you twat. You wouldn't have to set your eyes on any scary muggles."

Draco seemed to consider this when his face suddenly fell and he bit his lip. "You'd really take me in?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," he said just as quietly. He wanted to say something cheesy like 'that's what friends are for' but he didn't think Draco would understand. Slytherin wasn't exactly a Free Hug centre.

"Will you," Draco said slowly, eyes flickering to his before dropping to his hands, "…come with me, to tell my father?" Then, as if he expected to be rejected, "I just figure he'll be so shocked to see you willingly entering the Manor that the baby wouldn't be that big of a deal."

"I'll come," he said, vaguely amused. "I'll even kiss him on the cheek, yeah? Tell him how beautiful the estate is?"

"Exactly," Draco grinned weakly, wiping his eyes. He sighed and tore off some more loo-paper, blowing his nose and tossing it into the bin beside the toilet. "The only reason I even have to tell him is because unless I want the entire world to know I'm taking it up the arse, he needs to contact the family physician. It's illegal to do pregnancy scans on a minor, anyway."

"Really?" Harry frowned. He didn't know much about pregnancy or anything, but he was sure there were muggle centres who catered to underage mums…

Draco shrugged and fiddled with his trousers, looking so miserable that Harry couldn't help but reach out and pat his knee.

"It'll be okay, yeah?" he said awkwardly, smiling a bit. "Worst case scenario, he kicks you out and you stay at Hogwarts for the holidays until we graduate and I can find us a place." Well, that is if we survive graduation. Voldemort might be disappointed to lose another Malfoy…

"And if you aren't pregnant, then you continue with your life and someday you'll laugh about it."

"Yeah," Draco said softly. Harry had a feeling they just needed to wait it out and see how it played.

Either way, he had learned some interesting things: men could apparently get pregnant, Draco trusted him enough to bring him with to confront his father and the bathroom floor was not gentle on the butt after the first half-hour.

The wonders of life.

**Chapter 10/To Be Continued…**

* * *

For anyone who doesn't know, a 'fortune-teller' is that paper-folding game where you pick a number, colour etc. and then get a fortune from underneath one of the corners. Normally about love. I actually had to research it, because here we call them 'Quack-Quacks' for some reason.

This will probably be like, forty chapters or something. So yeah...sorry about the slow-pace...but we're getting there, I promise!

**On another note, I have a question for y'all:** If I did a collection of request-fics, would you participate? As in, give me requests? Any genre, any pairing, any situation, any rating. I have a poll up if you'd rather not tell me in a review - if you are interested, that is. If you have a request idea now, for a collection or just in general, then send me a PM or leave me your e-mail and I'll get back to you.

And is it me, or are these chapters getting longer?

Thanks for reading!


	11. Act I: Christmas Shopping & Malfoy Manor

**Chapter Eleven: Christmas Shopping & Malfoy Manor  
7 – 10 December, 1996**

_Harry pulled on his favourite pyjama-bottoms and padded into the bedroom, absently willing the light off and half-closing the door on his way out. Tom was already in bed, reading glasses perched on his nose and a thick book on his lap, pages rustling softly as he flicked through the chapters. Harry climbed in beside him and settled under the duvet, folding his arm under his head and sighing as his body sunk into the mattress, any and all stress melting away._

_"Tom?"_

_"Hm."_

_"Can men get pregnant?" _

_Pause. Tom stared at his book for another moment or so before slowly lifting his head to look at him, eyebrow arching inquisitively. "What's brought this on?"_

_"Can they?" he pressed, annoyed. It was just like Tom to answer a question with a question. He was silent for so long that Harry was starting to think he wouldn't answer, but then he shrugged fluidly and turned his eyes back to his—research, he supposed. It wasn't a smutty romance novel, that was for sure._

_"It is possible," he said finally, tone strangely casual. "Very rare, though, and hardly ever talked about when there is no need to."_

_"…so, it's like one of those things everyone assumes you know?" Harry said, frowning. How else would Draco connect the dots? [Unless he was a bit off in the head, of course…]_

_"I suppose. The old pureblood families are bound to teach their children about it – or they did when I was in school, anyway. The knowledge of its existence has slowly declined as more and more muggleborns are brought into the Wizarding world, along with their homophobia. It's not exactly the first option for child-rearing regardless, so even if more people knew about it, it's unlikely it would be very popular."_

_"Why?" he murmured, gut clenching tightly. "Is it dangerous?"_

_Tom looked as if he wanted to ask why he was so interested, but shrugged again in that infuriatingly calm way of his. "It can be, but it depends very much on circumstance and heritage."_

_"Heritage?" he frowned._

_"Certain Magical Creatures practise homosexual mating, so if you're descended from one of the known species then it's more likely for the pregnancy to go well and without any problems. That's not to say a normal wizard can't conceive, but that's even rarer. Muggleborn wizards, for example, have rarely been able to carry the child full-term – in documented cases, anyway."_

_"Oh," Harry said, more for something to say than anything. He was a bit shocked, though he supposed he really shouldn't have been. But now he had to actually worry about Draco being pregnant – he couldn't even imagine what thoughts were going through his head._

_Tom narrowed his eyes then, giving him a cool look. "You haven't gotten yourself knocked up now, have you?"_

_"What!" Harry laughed on impulse, despite the horror that flooded his body. "Of course not!"_

_"Good," Tom grumbled, flicking to the next page in his book. "Bloody teenagers and their hormones…"_

_Harry shook his head, rolling his eyes. He lay back again and mulled over the situation. It had been decided [in the bathroom] that Harry would ride back on the train with him to King's Cross Station where they would meet Lucius, as per usual for the Malfoys'. Draco said they normally Apparated back to Wilshire and then Flooed into the Manor through a warded fireplace on the edge of the property, but since it was dangerous to Side-Along more than one person Lucius would probably make a Portkey. They hadn't gotten permission from either of their wardens yet, but he wasn't too bothered about it. _

_Tom didn't interrupt his thoughts, reading some more before the last bell chimed and he set the book on his nightstand, the lights stuttering before slowly dying out to bathe the room in darkness. There was a sizable distance between them, but that wasn't unusual in the beginning. Harry normally ended up snuggled against his back at some point in the night. _

_Deciding to share his news, Harry said quietly: "Draco thinks he may be pregnant. He asked me to come with to tell Lucius – fun, right? I'm sort of dreading it and I'm only the support…"_

_Tom didn't reply, but he stiffened like a board and Harry knew he was listening. "How the bloody hell would he have managed that?" Tom finally asked sounding exhausted, as if they had had this conversation many times before._

_"No idea," Harry chirped, skipping over the clichéd 'sex?' response. "He's really upset though. And it would explain his erratic behaviour the last month. I don't know much about pregnancies in general, but that whole 'crazy hormone' thing is universal."_

_"It could just be a phantom pregnancy," Tom offered after a moment of silence. "If he thinks it's very likely he's with child, then his body will try to simulate the process."_

_"…please tell me you're joki—oh who am I kidding, you don't joke! That's horrible!"_

_"Hmm. Either way, he'd still be an erratic mess – as for Lucius…"_

_"You're a great help," Harry grumbled, clearly picturing the smirk curling at pale lips. He shuddered and closed his eyes. Sometimes he was glad he didn't have a father._

* * *

Harry was not impressed. Not in the least.

"What do you mean, I'm not _allowed_ to go?"

You see, Harry doesn't like being told what to – he'd had enough of that already, from the Dursleys and then when he came to Hogwarts, blindly following Dumbledore's claims. He enjoyed his freedom, and like any teenager being told not to do something only made him want to do it more. The subject in question was spending the night at Malfoy Manor.

Informing Dumbledore had gone as well as expected…and then Sirius stepped out the Floo.

He had been livid, spouting all sorts of crap about him entering the 'snake's den' and being trapped by You-Know-Who. He had calmly pointed out that he didn't think Lucius would be so stupid as to house the Dark Lord Voldemort when the Aurors were itching to bust him for being a Death Eater, but neither Dumbledore nor Sirius seemed inclined to listen. After running out of steam he had twitched tactics, trying to reason with him. When that didn't work, he had resorted to trying to _order_ him do as he was told.

"It's too dangerous!" Sirius said in exasperation. "Malfoy-Juniour might seem – _friendly_ – but his father sure isn't! I went to school with the prick! I fought against him in the war! This isn't the time for mucking about and teenage rebellion, Harry!"

"I'm not 'mucking about' and being rebellious," he ground out, expression twisting in irritation and anger. He felt his chest tighten and face flush, pausing momentarily to examine the strange feelings of fury welling up within him. _This is Sirius_, he told himself firmly, trying to quell the violent urges; _He's only concerned…_

"Then what are you doing?!" Sirius shouted, face a strange shade of red. "Harry, the Malfoys' are _bad_ people! I know what some people say, how they're only cold in public and they're probably really nice folk in their own home, but that's just _not_ true! They're evil and manipulative and—and _Slytherin_! It doesn't matter if Lucius was never charged, _everyone_ knows he worshipped the ground You-Know-Who walked on!"

"Well I'm not going there to have tea with Lucius!" he blurted out, feeling more and more agitated at Sirius' words. He knew they were true, but that didn't mean he had to acknowledge them. "Draco asked for my help and who his father wanks to won't bloody well change that!"

Dumbledore, who had previously been merely watching them, seemed to perk up. "Mr. Malfoy needs your help? Has something happened?"

Uh…whoops.

"Yeah," he muttered, frantically searching for an excuse. Sirius still looked doubtful, but also intrigued. _I need to be careful_, he thought fearfully. _Shit…shit…what do I say?! I can't say he might be pregnant…they'll either laugh or take me too seriously…_

"Something he's asked you not to talk about?" Dumbledore said kindly, expression sympathetic. "Harry, my boy, maybe we could help."

He was shaking his head even before he had finished speaking. He swallowed thickly, wishing pathetically that Tom and his smooth-talking were there to help him out. "No, there's nothing you can do. It's – it's—_personal_."

"Is he being bullied?" Dumbledore pushed, ignoring Sirius when he snorted in disbelief. "You know we don't condone that here, Harry. If he's having trouble with some other students…"

"Well," he said slowly, wincing. Blaise was doing a pretty good job of being an arsehole. "It's…sort of like that…I just—you _can't_ tell anyone! Please!"

"Of course," they said in union, expressions faltering slightly at his pleading tone. He never begged, and if he did then it was obviously important.

He hid a smirk, knowing he had them hook, line and sinker. He made his hands shaky, brushing back his hair and looking around nervously as if he expected someone to suddenly appear. "There was a…_incident_," he said quietly, making them lean in to hear him properly. "But it's fine now and Draco just needs me for moral support. I'll be back on eleventh and then we can continue as normal with Christmas."

"Why would he need moral support?" Sirius frowned. "…Harry—"

"You know Lucius," he said hurriedly, "he's not exactly 'Father of The Year'. Draco needs to talk to him and he doesn't want to go alone."

"If he thinks Lucius will react badly, that's an even worse reason to let you go!" Sirius shouted. "If the little coward can't—!"

"He's not a coward! In fact, asking for help is very brave!" Harry retorted angrily, wincing when he felt his scar throb. _Dammit Tom, not now!_

Then, without any previous thought to it, he blurted: "And besides, it's not as if Lucius will see me! I'll go under my Invisibility Cloak and if I need to intervene, only then will I reveal my presence. Other than that I probably won't even set eyes on him other than dinner."

"And you're sure of this?" Dumbledore said doubtfully.

"Albus! Surely you're not considering this!" Sirius gaped, looking frantically between them. "Whether or not he sees Lucius, it's still incredibly dangerous! Let's not forget Narcissa – she could also make a grab at him!"

"Sirius," Dumbledore said in his 'shut the fuck up, I know what I'm doing' voice. "If Harry is sure he can handle it, I think we should allow him to go – with certain precautions, of course."

Though inwardly seething at the old goat's choice of words, Harry was happy to note the finality of the statement. Sirius gawped wordlessly, mouth opening and closing for a moment before he shook his head and stormed out. Harry watched him go silently.

"If that is all, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I have a few errands to run."

"Of course," he said, taking a step back and inclining his head. "Thank you, sir."

_Fool._

* * *

Humming, Harry was sitting in _The Three Broomsticks_ waiting for Draco. He had already gotten his present – a customised Snitch, a subscription to a muggle car magazine and some sweets from Honeydukes – and now he just had to shop for Voldemort and a few others.

He already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to get for his beloved, and was probably most excited for that. It would lighten his vault somewhat, but he shrugged off his frugal-tendencies for that moment. A thousand Galleons wouldn't even make a dent if you emptied out all of his money and put it on one big pile. Hell, it would probably only make up one little fraction.

Tom had given him the idea for the gift, funnily enough. They had been sitting in front of the fire as usual when he asked, half-asleep and disgruntled from being abandoned by Gerald for a cosy place on the rug in the heat of the flames. He was sure Tom was being sarcastic, but he couldn't help but admire the idea. Grinning to himself, he bit back a snicker. It wouldn't do to scare the other pub-goers.

It was only fair someone came to rain on his happy little parade, he would think later. The person approached quietly – so quietly Harry hadn't even noticed his swift boots until he was too close to slip away from.

"Potter."

_Well fuck_, he thought upon recognising the voice; glancing up dispassionately to see Blaise Zabini standing in front of his table with a fierce glare marring his usually indifferent expression. "Zabini," he replied. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

And what a pleasure it was. Zabini was known for his vindictive streak and Harry knew this wasn't a traditional social-call. Or a regular one, while they were on the subject…

"We need to talk."

_If I didn't know any better I'd think you were about to dump me. _

"Right now?" he raised his eyebrows, noting the few people around them who had turned to watch their interaction. _Nosy buggers. _"I'm waiting for someone."

"I know," Zabini sneered, "_Malfoy_."

"Do you call him 'Malfoy' in bed, too?" Harry asked curiously. "I'm no expert, but that could be one of the reasons your—"

_CRACK!_

He spoke so low and fast Harry, disorientated and in pain, thought he was speaking in tongues for a second. It took a moment but he refocused on Zabini, blinking and wincing when his cheek throbbed. He was looming over him, fist still raised and expression twisted in some emotion he couldn't name.

"Don't. You. _Dare_!" he hissed, curling a hand in Harry's collar and yanking him so their faces weren't inches apart. "You're one arrogant little mudblood, aren't you? Hmm? Going around with someone else's lover and then talking like—like you _know_! I'm so _sick_ of you hanging off Draco like fucking jewellery, telling him all sorts of shite to turn him against us!"

Harry mustered enough strength to shove him away, standing and shaking his wand into his hand just in case. "What the fuck is your problem, Zabini?! You're so ready to blame everyone else for your relationship problems, but have you ever considered that _you're_ the r—!"

"I'd appreciate it kindly if you didn't spew my private life for the whole bloody world to see," a cool voice broke in.

Zabini swung around, eyes widening before narrowing on his boyfriend. He reached out as if to grab a slim arm, but Draco was already shoving past and curling a fist in Harry's jumper. He was furious, pewter eyes like shards of glass and expression pinched in disgust.

"Draco," Zabini said, voice lilting warningly. "Draco, you—"

"It's over."

There was a short, dumbfounded pause. Zabini paled drastically, staring at Draco as if he had just been told he only had two weeks to live. Harry looked much the same, feeling rather ill as he gaped at his friend.

_That sure escalated fast…_

"Draco," Harry said, not sure whether to encourage him or get him to take back his words. A small part of him wanted to help the poor thing, Zabini looked a bit like a kicked puppy, but the larger, darker side of him giggled happily at the prospect of seeing the arsehole get what was coming to him. He had been treating Draco horribly ever since he came into the picture and if he punched him so easily…practically a stranger…

"No," Draco said firmly, voice hard and face unknowingly mirroring his father's best 'you just fucked up' expression. "No, it's over, Blaise. I'm done with this—this _thing_. This should have ended months ago and I'm frankly _done_ with all of this nonsense."

Blaise argued wordlessly, taking a step forward and apparently oblivious to their audience, but Draco wasn't done.

"Harry and I aren't together or having sex – I'm helping him with something and in return he's helping me with something. I don't know when you started trusting everyone else's word over my own, but it's obvious that nowadays what I have to say means nothing when you have 'proof' we're sneaking off to shag," he snorted, shaking his head. "Don't worry about telling my mother that we're not together – in fact, don't contact my family at all. Come Harry, my wards are going to fall in a moment."

"Draco—"

"It's Malfoy to you, Zabini," Draco said shortly, dragging Harry past his wards and disengaging them with a muttered spell. Harry was immediately assaulted with noise – gossip, whispers, some people were even laughing. He ignored them, completely focused on his seemingly-indifferent friend as he was frog-marched out of the pub.

They were down the street, heading into a random shop when Harry managed to make his voice work again. "Are you…okay?"

It probably wasn't the best thing to say, in hindsight, but Draco merely glared at him half-heartedly before sighing shakily and shrugging jerkily.

"I think I'm going to sick up," he said sullenly, absently patting his stomach. "I've never dumped someone before. I figured it'd be fun, but now I feel like crap. Mother's going to be disappointed…she likes Blaise. She and Mrs Zabini went to Hogwarts together, you know."

Harry didn't reply. They walked in silence, pretending to browse the shelves before moving onto the next store. It seemed to sell a bit of everything, but Harry couldn't concentrate when Draco was looking as if someone had ridden over his cat.

"See anything?" Draco asked eventually, voice neutral. Harry didn't believe it for a second. "Who are you buying for, anyway?"

Harry only hesitated a moment before saying, "My godfather, Remus, Hermione and…_him_."

Draco paused, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows before nodding. He hadn't mentioned any names, but he had told Draco about his love-interest when they first started on their little 'Traditions' tutoring sessions. Harry had been careful not to give any discriminating details, telling only that he was older and Draco would probably meet him some time or another.

"Not the Weasels then?" he said conversationally. "I can't imagine they're very hard to—oh don't give me that look, I'm emotionally unstable right now."

Harry rolled his eyes and looked up at the sky. It was starting to snow, he realised idly. It wasn't all that cold considering, though that might have had to do with the fact that he was wearing one of Draco's specially-made weather-proof cloaks. His nose felt a bit like the tip of an ice-berg.

"My father replied this morning," Draco said suddenly, unabashedly leaning into his side and tucking his chin down so his hair shadowed his eyes. "He said you can stay – but no more than a few days…we're having 'guests'…"

Harry pointedly ignored the implications. "That's good, otherwise I would have to book myself into a hotel until we would have finished up."

"Dumbledore agreed?" Draco gaped.

"Yup! Expect a multitude of tracking and monitoring spells, however."

The Slytherin snorted, pulling away slightly to button up his cloak all the way. "Father will have them all disarmed before we even reach the house. They're automatically removed upon entering, anyway."

"Really?" Harry said, blinking. "That's cool…"

"I suppose – it's always been like that, ever since the first Malfoy came to Britain."

"Suspicious lot, aren't you?"

"With good reason," Draco grumbled, titling his head back as they walked to watch the sky as well. He sighed then and said: "Come on, we need to finish up and get back to the castle. Your face is starting to swell up…"

Harry winced, having forgotten about the injury. He prodded it gingerly and Draco huffed and pulled his hand away to examine it himself. He pursed his lips before shrugging and taking out his wand. He paused and said slowly, "May I?"

"Go ahead." I trust you.

* * *

It seemed to take forever, especially after Draco and Zabini's very public break-up, but finally the tenth came and with that, the Winter holidays. Harry hadn't had much time to see him as he was consciously being on his best behaviour so Dumbledore couldn't suddenly change his mind about him going, but they exchanged what seemed like hundreds of notes. Draco had decided to stop trying to push him away regarding his feelings, and flooded his bag and trunk – how did he even do that?! – with whatever he was feeling at that moment. There was a lot of 'Blaise is an arsehole' and 'meet me in the bathroom for cuddles' mixed in.

Not that he minded – no, he was quite pleased. The fact that Draco trusted him was _very_ good news in regards to his plans. It didn't hurt that he couldn't help cooing at and coddling him either.

"All ready?" Harry said, having spotted his friend in the crowd waiting to get onto the train. He had travelled with Hermione, Ron and Ginny to the waiting train – not for his lack of protest – and lost them as soon as possible, extremely annoyed and hurt. They had heard about him spending the night with the Malfoys' and had _not_ taken it well.

Draco gave him a sour look, but moved closer so their arms were brushing. "You're late."

"Had some Weasels and a strange Beaver of some sort on my trail," he said gravely. "A truly terrifying experience, I assure you. Zabini still trying to win your heart back?"

Draco huffed, not looking the least bit pleased. He had been in the beginning, but it got old fast when he realised it was probably all due to his wounded pride. "Crabbe and Goyle had to physically remove him from the dorm when I was packing the last of my things. Daft prick had some ridiculous idea that I would want him back if he 'seduced' me."

Harry was horrified. "Did he—"

"No, thank Merlin," Draco mumbled, too annoyed to be embarrassed. "If Crabbe had wandered in five seconds later than he did, _you'd_ be waiting for _me_."

Horror quickly melted into amusement. "He that good?"

"Unfortunately," came the petulant response. "…arsehole…"

The conductor opened the doors then and they quickly climbed aboard, hesitating briefly before heading for Draco's usual compartment. It was unlikely his friends would come looking for him when they would be so clearly surrounded by Slytherins and a few of the meaner Ravenclaws. They settled in on either sides of the compartment, sitting in a comfortable silence as they waited for the journey to start. Draco took out a Potions magazine and Harry was content to look out the window.

Soon after that the train pulled away from the station. A few people popped their head around the door to speak with either or both of them, and sometime during the journey Crabbe and Parkinson took residence in the compartment as well, neither knowing where Goyle was. Rolling his eyes, Draco muttered something about stealing off the tea-trolley and conversation dried up again.

Not long after that Harry stared to get bored. Watching the scenery pass by was only so interesting and he hadn't packed any—

The compartment door slid open suddenly, revealing Luna in all of her weird-glory. She smiled vaguely and practically danced inside, sinking down beside Harry and looking around like a curious bird.

"What are you doing here, Looney?" Parkinson sneered, looking a bit spooked. Harry supposed no-one had ever dared to come into their space uninvited…

"Back off, Parkinson," Harry said half-heartedly, knowing Luna probably hadn't even heard her anyway. "_Luna_ is my friend."

Pansy opened her mouth, most likely to berate and demean him, but Draco shot her a look of pure venom and shook his magazine meaningfully. "Reading, if you hadn't noticed!" Harry couldn't help but notice how he was bouncing his knee up and down.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, but drooped down in her seat and pointedly looked away from the odd Ravenclaw sitting directly across from her. She fished some Bertie Bott's Beans from her robe-pocket and started sorting through them – most likely for something to do. Harry wasn't the only one who had forgotten to bring something to do. Crabbe was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, but Harry wasn't so sure he was sleeping.

"Did you read the latest issue of The Quibbler, Harry?" Luna asked suddenly.

Harry blinked, glancing side-ways at her and smiling. "No, I'm afraid not. You wouldn't happen to have a copy, would you?"

She beamed, a rolled-up copy appearing from seemingly nowhere. He took it with a grateful smile and pressed out the creases, shuffling closer so they could look over the articles together. It was filled with the usual stuff, though he quickly realised what Luna wanted to point out to him.

Paling, he met her eyes point-blank.

She nodded.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the station, Harry was exhausted. He just wanted to curl up and go to sleep – and for no apparent reason. Sitting around was apparently very tiring. They retrieved everything they had kept on hand and filed off the train, waiting impatiently for their trunks and belongings. They dragged their things away from the crowd, both grumbling about how not being able to shrink their own luggage sucked.

This was how Lucius found them. He had been waiting a little out of the crowd, it seemed, and approached them quickly upon spotting his son's shock of platinum hair.

"Draco," he greeted coolly, briefly eyeing his son before turning his gaze to Harry. "Mr. Potter."

"Lucius," he replied easily, ignoring the warning glare Draco shot him. "Thanks for having me."

Lucius looked as if he were fighting a sneer. "Quite." He quickly unsheathed his wand and shrunk both of their trunks, quickly doing the same with their empty bird-cages. He had sent Hedwig ahead to Grimmauld Place much to her distress, and Draco's owl had probably left the night before.

"Come," he said shortly, not bothering to see if they were following before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the public-eye. Harry made a face at his back, rolling his eyes when Draco shook his head disapprovingly. They were led into a dim alcove where Lucius pulled out a plain black glove.

Harry and Draco held their hands ready for the right time, and Lucius nodded.

"One…two…three!"

Harry did not like Portkeys much, _nope_. He just managed to land on his feet, wobbling a bit and nearly toppling over when Draco suddenly grabbed onto his shoulder for support. He didn't look so good either.

Lucius gave him a funny look, but said nothing and gestured vaguely for them to follow. Looking up and actually taking in the scene before him, Harry was gobsmacked.

Draco lived in a bloody museum.

The house itself could have been something from the Addams Family – dark and sculpted and sharp, with wrought-iron fences and even some stone gargoyles along the walls. They walked down a long gravel path, passing many a different plant and…peacocks? Well, now he knew where Draco got his strut from.

The gates didn't squeak when they swung open, though that probably wouldn't have scared Harry more than they did now. Two large dogs immediately bounded through, skidding to a halt when they came to Lucius, tails wagging eagerly. They were lope-legged and long-haired, but Harry didn't doubt they were vicious. Those teeth…

Lucius briefly patted the one on the head, and the other slunk past to nuzzle at Draco's legs before hurrying back after its friend and it's Master.

"Nice place," Harry said, impressed. It was certainly something that fit the whole 'Death Eater' image.

Draco glanced sideways at him, as if not sure if he were being genuine or not, and then nodded simply and smiled weakly. Looking ahead, Harry reached out and squeezed his forearm reassuringly.

They said nothing as they finally made it to the front door, elves rushing to take their things and offer welcomes. Lucius disappeared down a dim hall after a brief 'your mother will be down in a moment' and Harry watched him go, blinking.

Well…that was rude.

Draco didn't seem particularly bothered however and led him towards an intricate staircase. Just as they were going up a pretty blonde woman appeared at the top, icy blue eyes immediately zeroing in on her son.

"Draco!" she greeted, descending gracefully to the bottom step where they stood. She gripped his face softly and placed a kiss on each cheek before dropping her arms and turning to look at him, expression cooling notably.

"Mr. Potter," she acknowledged, eyes unreadable as she held out a hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, though the circumstances certainly surprised me."

"The pleasure is all mine," he said, bowing his head and brushing a kiss over her ring – bloody hell, that was some big ice – before pulling back and smiling charmingly. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Subtly painted lips quirked into a somewhat-cold smile. "Don't mind Lucius, I imagine he is just…busy at the moment. I'm afraid I myself will have to leave you boys too, there was a bit of an accident and I'm needed elsewhere. I'll see you at dinner in an hour."

"We'll be fine, Mother," Draco said distractedly, evidently seeing something in her expression – or lack thereof – that needed to be reassured. "We'll most likely stay in my rooms after freshening up."

"Very well," she nodded, this time with a more believable smile. She bowed her head respectively and descended the last step before striding across the wide hall, the soft cloth of her robes swishing as she walked.

Draco laid a hand on his arm to steer him through the house; up the marble stairs, across the dilating passage and through a set of dark-wood double-doors. The next hall was much more welcoming than the sparsely-decorated morgue of a foyer, in rich shades and with talking portraits. They quieted down as they passed, though a few called out to Draco in greeting. Harry supposed they were wondering if it was safe to act like they usually did around him, a stranger.

Eventually they came to a strange squared-off sort of wing with four large doors, two on each wall with portraits in-between them. Runes and characters he couldn't understand or recognise were carved into the wood, a sign hanging from each door.

"This is where the Lord and Lady of the Manor and any children they may have sleep." Draco explained, gesturing to the most ornately entrance. "My parents' rooms and here," he said, turning around and confidently twisting the handle of the door and throwing it open, "is my room."

Harry followed him inside, suddenly very nervous. A person's bedroom was something very _private_, and as someone who didn't even really have a bedroom, he was very aware of how important it was. Still, he persevered and looked around, smiling – perhaps a little self-deprecatingly – when he realised it was nothing like he would have expected.

It was obviously the space of someone who didn't have a limit on gold, but it wasn't tacky nor was it overly formal like others had speculated. There was all the usual furniture – a dresser, a built-in wardrobe, a desk, bookshelves and a large bed in the centre of the back wall – and it was all done very tastefully, but there were hints of the fact that a young man – and once a child – inhabited the room. There were sketches and newspaper clippings stuck to the wall by the desk, there were a few shelves of old magical toys and books and there was some Quidditch equipment piled carelessly in one corner of the room.

"Having fun?" Draco drawled, though when Harry looked up he didn't look remotely offended.

He shrugged and grinned back, "I'm just curious. Here I was, expecting all green and silver and maybe a torture machine or two?"

Draco snorted, nodding towards a door he had nearly missed. It was half-hidden behind a tapestry – a very strange tapestry too. Was that a unicorn?

"That's the bathroom, you can wash up first. I'll find us both something suitable to wear."

"You do that," Harry waved, heading for the bathroom. _Hmm…maybe he keeps his porn in here?_

* * *

Dinner was, to Harry's amusement, very awkward.

Lucius was still pissed off for some reason – or was that his natural state? – and Draco was practically being grilled by his mother – as much as a Malfoy can grill, anyway – for details on school, how he thinks he did on this assignment, why isn't he eating his greenbeans and there's this peculiar rumour she had heard that just happened to star Blaise…

They seemed to be content to pretend he wasn't there, despite the fact that he was sitting right next to Draco, and he was content to let them. He didn't particularly want to make nice with either of them, and as dinner drew to a close, he grew more and more agitated. Draco insisted they had to speak to his father while he was having his after-dessert whisky in his study, as this was when Draco normally approached him for toys/brooms/porn magazines they would never speak of again. Eventually they had to leave and Draco said goodnight to his mother before dragging him back to his rooms.

"I'm going to be sick," he moaned, and not melodramatically either. He was white as a sheet and if Harry looked hard enough, he could definitely make out some green in there.

"We should just get this over with," Harry suggested. "There's no point in working yourself up over it and then what? You don't do it?"

"Fine," Draco grumbled through gritted teeth, but not before downing some Calming Draught he had smuggled from Slughorn's classroom. Slowly his breathing returned to normal and the colour returned to his face.

Harry got out his cloak and held it ready, smiling reassuringly at his friend despite his own doubts. He had his wand, Tom's extensive knowledge of rather nasty hexes and he would be invisible, so why was _he_ worried?

Shaking it off, he said: "It's now or never, Draco."

Sucking in a deep breath, Draco nodded and watched as his friend disappeared into thin air. Walking towards the door on shaky legs, he fumbled with the lock for a moment before slipping out and timing it so it wouldn't look strange for him to wait for Harry. He felt something soft brush his side and closed the door, walking stiffly down the dim hall. Since it was getting late the Manor was also getting ready for bed, per se.

Harry kept up easily, making soft clucking sounds with his tongue to let Draco know where he was. He hadn't really expected it to work, but Draco heard him fine and they never bumped into each other. Soon – much too soon! – they were in front of Lucius' study. Or, Harry assumed anyway. The thick door was shut and the room was obviously sound-proof because he couldn't hear _anything_ coming from within.

Draco lifted a hand to knock, and Harry quickly squeezed his shoulder soothingly before ducking under his cloak again. He rapped sharply on the wood three times and then took a step back, waiting.

A small eternity seemed to have passed. Draco looked as if he really was about to keel over and lose his stomach, and Harry could only imagine what kind of tricks his heart was doing. He was about to tug on his trouser-leg and suggest they go back when the door suddenly swung open.

The way he was standing he couldn't see into the room, but by the expression Draco was making it wasn't Lucius who had opened the door. He had paled even further, if possible, and he could see his throat bob as he swallowed thickly.

"Good evening," he said in a slightly squeaky voice, but anything further was interrupted by Lucius' familiar drawl.

"Draco? What is it?"

"I—I wanted to speak to you about something, Father," Draco announced, face only half visible to Harry now. "…are you busy? Perhaps I should—"

"No," Lucius said, "Come in – what is it?"

Harry was barely aware of the door closing and the fact that Draco had gone in without him – and he probably didn't even realise it! No, he was too busy staring up at the man that had emerged from Lucius' study. He was tall and thin it looked, dressed in all black with trailing robes under a winter cloak. As he walked out of the way to let Draco through, he saw that he wasn't wearing shoes, showing off impossibly slender snow-white feet. The fabrics of his robes swished soothingly, despite the very Dementor-like appearance it gave the man.

Despite this, it wasn't the strange outfit or the inhuman feet that caught his attention. Oh no, it was the crimson eyes staring straight at him from under a shadowed hood.

Well would you look at that…Sirius was right.

**Chapter 11/To Be Continued…  
Act I: Complete**

* * *

Okay, end of the first Act. There will be three/four – different lengths, too – according to my plans...

Oh my god, what did this become o.o This was a long chapter! And so difficult to write! I must have rewritten certain areas more than five times...Sorry if it got a little boring…

As mentioned before, I'm going to be doing requests for a collection. If you have a request, then send me PM or leave it in the review using this form:

**Requester**: [User-name/Nickname or you can be Anonymous.]  
**Summary**: [Pairings/Basic summary of what you want. Can be vague and something like 'X/Y go on a date' or 'X likes onions' or can be extremely detailed.]  
**Extras**: [Rating/Side-pairings/Kinks etc.]  
**Length**: [Preferably a one-shot, but up to four chapters for a request is doable.]

PLEASE NOTE: I have no idea how many people will participate, but if I don't get to your request, please do not be offended D:


	12. Act II: Merry Fucking Christmas

**Act II/Chapter Twelve: Merry Fucking Christmas [Or Draco Is Harry's Best Friend Forever and Ever?]  
25 December 1996**

Sitting back against the headboard of his bed, Harry thought about the latest developments in his life. A lot had happened in the last two weeks – and yet, it also seemed as if hardly anything had happened at all. It was like a dream; ever since that night at the Manor he had been drifting along as if gravity just couldn't get him back down. He couldn't even remember how he got to Grimmauld Place; one minute he was swooning before crimson eyes and the next it was morning and he was knocking on the front door of Number 12, trunk at his side and unable to recall if he had completely blown his cover.

Draco had sent him a frantic letter the night of the fourteenth, wanting to meet up somewhere in Muggle London. He had agreed immediately, sneaking out of the house early in the morning with the twins ready to cover for him. He had made a quick stop at Gringotts, converting some Galleons to pounds as well as filling up his money-pouch to finish off his Christmas shopping so he'd at least have a weak excuse for being gone. He had arrived at the café Draco named, raising his eyebrows when he realised it was one of those upper-class places that people normally took clients to for meetings.

_"You're here," Draco practically shouted upon spotting him, standing jerkily with his hands flat on the table-top. No-one paid them any mind – it was busy, and he doubted he would have even heard Draco if he hadn't been so close already._

_"I told you I was coming," Harry said in his most soothing voice, sitting down across from him at the table and patting his hand. "Have you ordered yet?"_

_Draco shook his head. He looked pale and tired, hair mussed and eyes red and shiny as if he had a fever. "I just got here…"_

_A waitress hurried over then, pen poised over a notebook. "Has someone helped you yet?"_

_"No," Harry said, noting how Draco suddenly clammed up. He probably isn't used to conversing with muggles, he thought. "Two hot-chocolates and a slice of whatever cake you have on promotion to share."_

_She scribbled it down and nodded, leaving quickly. Harry turned back to his friend, eyeing him warily. "How do you know this place?"_

_"Father does business here sometimes," Draco said shortly, tapping the table-top compulsively. He slumped in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose and sucking in a slow breath. "Harry…Blaise knows…and…" he trailed off, shaking his head. _

_No wonder, he grimaced. Even if he felt bad about it, he was kind of getting tired of Draco freaking out about Blaise all the time. Straightening, he leaned across to take the still-tapping hand in his. He quickly corrected the hold when he realised it would look strange to the muggles and settled for squeezing his forearm instead. "Okay, start from the beginning."_

_Draco nodded, silent for a moment before seeming to gather his thoughts. He looked off to the side, as if embarrassed, and pursed his lips. "After we went back to my room, Father contacted Healer Gaspard – or, that's what he said anyway. Healer Gaspard is on leave, so he can only come to examine me in January. He's still really upset…my father, I mean. I told Mother after you left, like I said I would, and she also wasn't happy, but…I think Father wants me to get an abortion. If I am…_you know_."_

_"An abortion?" Harry flinched, eyes widening before narrowing angrily. "He said that?"_

_"No…I told you, he just went on about how Blaise was supposed to be responsible and how he and Mother trusted me to act accordingly at school. Then he was saying how a baby at this age would only weigh me down, and that I'm supposed to finish my education…and—and he said that he would have to tell…You-Know-Who."_

_"Did he?" Harry could hardly breathe. Tom didn't seem to have an opinion on Draco's maybe-pregnancy, but he was pretty sure Voldemort would insist on an abortion. He couldn't have a pregnant wizard in his ranks, especially not in a war._

_"Yes," Draco whispered, voice strained. "Father contacted him and he came to the Manor yesterday. He just said that he was disappointed in me and that if Healer Gaspard confirms the pregnancy, then I must think hard about what I want to do regarding—"_

_The waitress returned then, leaving the last word hovering tensely between them. Their drinks were set down along with their cake, two forks and a container of sugar packets. _

_Harry leaned back, gently removing his hand. He knew exactly what Draco had been about to say. "…alright. What about Blaise? How does he fit into this?"_

_Draco shook his head, a bitter smile on his mouth. "He somehow convinced Mother to let him come over. He was saying how he refused to be dumped, and that our relationship deserved more than what we ended on. I got angry…I said things I didn't mean, I said things I did mean and I said things that had him backtracking and demanding to know if I was pregnant. I practically told him…" He dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing his eyes and trying to steady his voice. "I was just so mad and I started shouting and then I couldn't stop…he was really shocked. He just left and…and I don't know what to do…"_

_"Why do you have to do anything?" Harry asked carefully, absently stirring some sugar into his mug of hot-chocolate. He felt a bit like a therapist, in that moment. He didn't usually like people coming up to him and expecting him to fix all of their problems, but Draco was his friend and he knew that he had no-one else to talk to. _

_"What if he tells someone?!" Draco snapped, practically ripping his hand through his hair and tugging on the ends. "Then what?!"_

_"Draco, let me ask you something: when you were having sex, were you using the protection charms?"_

_"Of course!" was the furious reply. "My parents made sure I could cast those perfectly before I was allowed to go to Hogwarts."_

_"Calm down, you're missing the point. The protection charms require two people, right? You did your part, but he obviously failed on his."_

_"…so?"_

_"_So_, it's his fault. Zabini, from you've told me and from I've seen, is an arrogant sod. Draco, I don't think he's going to be telling anyone – wouldn't that just prove what a shitty caster he is?"_

_Draco said nothing, staring down at his hands on the table for a short moment before sighing shakily and dragging the cake towards himself. He used the side of his fork to cut off a little bite and started eating, refusing to meet his eyes. _

_"If he does tell anyone, then we'll deal with it," Harry said firmly. "For how, let's not think about that, okay? At least your dad hasn't kicked you out or anything. He hasn't even hinted at it, right?"_

_"No. He looked at me as if I were a complete idiot when I mentioned it…"_

_Harry was quite pleased, even if he didn't like the way Draco seemed surprised by this. He'd always thought Draco was a bit delusional when it came to Lucius, but it looked as if he wasn't so clueless after all…_

They had spoken some more before leaving the café to wander around Diagon Alley. Draco seemed to have calmed down significantly, even joking around with him, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be back to normal – or anything resembling that – until he was checked out by the Healer. Eventually they both had to go home though, and Harry was immediately assaulted by a shrill Hermione and a pissed off Ron. He frankly didn't have time for their shit and not even Mrs Weasley's nagging could make them 'kiss and make up'. Eventually, they 'forgave' him and life went on.

It was boring, being locked up in the house all the time, but Dumbledore was around more often than not and Tom had told him to be wary of him. He had been acting strange lately, and though Tom couldn't watch the world through his eyes, per se, he could see his memories and he definitely didn't like how Dumbledore was coming across. Harry hadn't even noticed until it was pointed out to him, which made it even more suspicious. Had Dumbledore always been that…unsettling?

He kept an eye on him, but tried to appear normal. Padfoot and Lupin arrived back a few days before Christmas Eve, so that was fun too. Even if Sirius seemed to stare at him a lot – the type of staring that he'd expect a proud father to give their son. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but no-one else seemed to notice so he left it at that.

Now it was Christmas Day and he didn't much want to leave his bed. It wasn't that he loved his bed or that it was particularly warm – oh no, it was hard as fuck and his fingers and toes were probably in the process of falling off, but he really wasn't in the mood for the chaos that would undoubtedly ensue. He wanted to lie back with Tom – or Voldemort, but since he wasn't available for snuggling… – and eat sweets and just laze by the fire, toes toasty warm and belly pleasantly full. Instead he'd have to sit in the middle of a fucking tornado of excited Gryffindors, 'but I wanted the _red_ one!' and Mrs Weasley forcing food down his throat. He was starting to rethink that whole 'I hope they don't mysteriously die in the war' thing.

Maybe if he was lucky Ron would bugger off with Hermione and then he could open Draco's present in peace without his 'best friends' breathing down his neck, trying to analyse every little thing. He brightened notably…and then he remembered Ginny.

She had been even more stalker-y than normal, all the while smiling widely and trying to convince him that she understood he liked [here she would shudder] men, and that she only wanted to be friends. He didn't buy it for a second, and frankly, he wished she was still pissed off at him and refusing to even look in his direction. The fact that she had been acting like that to guilt him into apologising for his colourful thoughts of having Voldemort fuck him into yesterday was beside the point.

Ron suddenly stopped snoring and rolled over in his bed, groaning. There was a moment of silence before he shot upwards, grinning excitedly. "It's Christmas!" Spying him sitting up against the headboard, book in his lap, he asked: "What time is it?"

"Going on seven, I think."

"Mum's probably got breakfast on," Ron said to himself, throwing off the duvet. Harry shook his head light, turning back to staring blankly at whatever novel it was he had picked up in the Black library. It was amazing how Ron took forever to rise at school, but was up with the sun on holidays. "You coming, mate?"

"Later," he said airily. _I wonder what Christmas at the Manor is like…_

_And better yet, has Voldemort gotten my present yet?_

* * *

As it turned out, it was just as Harry was thinking this that Hedwig arrived at Voldemort's hide-out. Convenient, no?

Said Dark Lord had been filling out paperwork, moping about how all his followers had abandoned him for dumb muggle festivities when Potter's owl soared through the unlit fireplace. He had stared at it for a full five minutes, absolutely dumbstruck – he was pretty sure the fireplace wasn't connected to a chimney – before sighing and in a very martyrdom fashion, deciding to indulge the idiot.

"Good morning, Hedwig," Voldemort deadpanned. "I can't offer you anything to eat, I'm afraid, but Wormtail is probably scuttling around here somewhere."

She hooted loudly and dropped a brown box on his desk before flying through the cracked door, no doubt thrilled at having permission to hunt his servant. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment, drawing his wand from his sleeve and casting a few stronger-than-necessary charms to make sure nothing strange had been put inside. He had stopped going headfirst for the contents, so to say, upon reaching in and grabbing a cum-soaked jockstrap the month before.

Lucius had refused to look him in the face for a full week afterwards, and he could still hear the _squish_ in his mind. He shuddered, not for the first time wondering if the boy was right in the head.

To his surprise, none of his charms worked – it was as if they just bounced off. He sat back, steepling his hands under his chin thoughtfully. Normally he wouldn't be so brash…but his wards would have complained if something especially dangerous had tried to come through…

Voldemort sat up and grabbed a letter-opener from his drawer. He cut through the tape sealing the box – gross, muggle tape – and pulled back the flaps, frowning when he saw a slip of white card laying on what looked to be pure emerald silk.

_Dear Voldemort_, it read in squiggly letters, _I'm sorry we couldn't be together on this day, but I hope you enjoy your gift anyway_.

He was just about to read the rest [it was in smaller print, for some reason] when the box suddenly jumped from its spot before him. He flung himself back impulsively, watching with narrowed eyes as the silk threw itself over the side of the box onto his desktop. It wiggled until the ribbon holding it together came loose, revealing ebony scales and two-three-four-_five_ different…tails?

He was suddenly staring into the faces of multiple hatchlings, their eyes glinting knowingly. Pale tongues flickered from their mouths, scenting the air and him before they seemed to decide something. As one, they bowed their torsos and began hissing softly in synchronisation, slowly getting louder and louder as they…sang?

He only then noticed they all wore mini-Christmas hats—or, no. That one on the right had some antlers…was that a red spot on its snout?

_"We wisssh you a Merry Christmas, we wisssh you a Merry Christmas, we wisssh you a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!"_

Voldemort watched, mouth hanging open and mind absolutely exploding with the mind-fuckery that this was. Stupidly, he fumbled to retrieve the card from the floor – he had dropped it in his act of self-preservation – and he squinted at the fine-print.

_They're gorgeous, no? All boys, except for the one who wanted to be Rudolph. They're all magical, don't worry, though the shop-keeper says they're descended from the Black Mamba, indigenous to certain places in Africa. Highly venomous – I thought you'd be impressed. _

_They're all 'trained' so don't worry about them getting into any trouble. They were extremely relieved when a Speaker removed them from the dingy store they were being kept in, so they'll probably eat their own tails if you asked them to. You better not, by the way. In the short time I was able to familiarise myself with them, I became quite attached. _

_Keep Rudi – our gorgeous little Reindeer-wannabe – close. She's quite the little explorer. _

_Love,  
Lady Voldemort_

"…"

"…"

"…"

"..._Sha la la la la la, My oh my, Look like the boy too shy, Ain't gonna kiss the—!"_

_"Just what is this?! Master?!"_

Voldemort whimpered, sitting down heavily in his chair. "_Nagini…this isn't what it looks like…"_

* * *

Harry was losing patience, and quickly. He had thought at the beginning of the holiday that it would at least be a little fun, but now he was wishing he had stayed at Hogwarts. Everything annoyed him, no-one seemed to understand that he just wanted to be left alone and he was two seconds away from hexing Ginny's breasts to deflate.

Oh wait…what breasts?

He finally had a moment to himself, and that was only because he had locked himself in a seemingly-forgotten bathroom. He thought it fitting, considering he was using this time to open Draco's present. The room was grimy and dusty and plain disgusting, but a few cleaning charms later and it would do. He smiled wearily, sitting cross-legged on the floor and examining the box that had been slipped to him during their visit on the fifteenth.

It was dressed in plain green wrapping, with a black bow tied neatly on the side. There was a tag, but it only read "To Potty". Rolling his eyes, he pulled off the bow and gently peeled back the paper to reveal a sleek black box. Eyebrows rising, he brushed his hands over the smooth wood. Popping the latch, he pulled back the top and nearly jumped in surprise when soft music rose from within.

_A music box_, he realised. It was a strange gift, he thought, but he liked it all the same. A crisp white envelope shielded the contents of the box, and he put it aside for that moment, eyes roving over the thin book tucked gently into the corner. A handful of sweets sat atop it, which he set aside for later. The book looked old – really old – and he realised with a start that it was a journal.

"That's weird," he mumbled, slightly spooked. _It looks…like Tom Riddle's diary…_

And it did, to an extent. He decided to brush off the thought for that moment and picked up the envelope, breaking the seal and pulling out the parchment.

_Potter,_

_Merry Christmas and Happy Yuletide._

_I was originally going to give the box to Blaise [he's into girly shite like this] but the book goes with it, so I thought I might as well give it you since they come together. It belonged to my grandfather when he was a child, and when he died it was left to my father's first-born child – me, obviously. It's an heirloom, you could say, so if you pawn it to pay off Weasel's Quidditch gambling debts then at least get your moneys-full. _

_I found the book in the Manor library when I was looking for a Defence reference last year. It also belonged to my grandfather, but only through inheritance. It was crafted sometime in the early 1890s and my great-uncle used it as a journal when he went to Hogwarts. Father says there used to be some sort of story about it, something about "if you address the book when writing, then it'll write back" but I doubt it's true. Unless it's like one of those animated diaries, of course, but I was told that it's more like the book is possessed. So – have fun with that. I know how much you like freaky things ;D _

_[I tried it out, but I didn't get a response. Father said that if it's possessed, then it's probably very specific about who it 'talks' to. I'm not all that convinced – if I were a possessed book, I'd talk to whoever was willing.]_

_Anyway, write to me soon, yeah? This whole "we're so disappointed in you" thing is getting old, fast, and any distraction would be great. _

_Regards,  
Draco Malfoy_

Harry had never loved his friend more in that moment.

He needed to speak with Tom.

* * *

Christmas dinner was agonizing. Harry desperately wanted to go to sleep and gush to Tom about what an absolutely brilliant friend Draco was – if Harry had his own little set of Death Eaters, Draco would be his Bellatrix – but he had been practically glued to his seat and no amounts of whining and feigned headaches would get him out of joining the festivities.

He barely tasted the food continuously piled up on his plate, eating mechanically and ignoring the strange looks Sirius and Remus were throwing him. When he was finally allowed to go he was out of there faster than Lucius Malfoy after realising he'd probably be going to prison if they found out he was involved with Voldemort. He managed to wake up Mrs Black, though a hissed insult quickly had the woman snapping her mouth shut, eyes wide and nearly bulging from her head.

Harry ignored his slip in Parseltongue and hurried to his and Ron's room, getting his pyjamas and rushing to the bathroom. He stayed in there extra-long so by the time he got out everyone would be in stages of going to bed themselves, letting his mind wonder and fantasising about what exactly this could mean for him. Of course he knew that it's possible nothing could come of it, but he was too excited to dwell on that.

The fact that his excitement was illogical didn't stay too long at the forefront of his mind either. He had only ever known one possessed diary before, and he'd take his chances with the possibility of them being related in some form.

A while later, he left the shower and got dressed in some loose pyjama-bottoms and an old faded shirt. To his relief Ron was snoring away when he crept back into their room, and he packed his things away – being careful to cover Draco's presents with his cloak – and settled into his bed. He forced himself to relax, clearing his mind and slowing his breathing until it was impossibly deep.

Tom couldn't allow him entry when his mind was too busy, which Harry found slightly suspicious. Wasn't Tom a dream? He pushed it away, however. Whatever was happening with Tom and his mind, he knew for a fact Tom wouldn't hurt him. Not intentionally, anyway.

Completely relaxed, his subconscious was quickly brought into the familiar realm of Tom's house.

_He threw off the covers and hurried out of the dimly-lit bedroom, just managing not to squish Gerald who was slithering past. He stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing Tom around the waist – ignoring his flinch of surprise – and bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet._

_"Tom! Tom!"_

_"Yes, hello to you too," was the annoyed reply. Tom pushed him away, turning back to preparing his breakfast. "You're early."_

_"I had to come see you!" Harry said, hopping up onto the counter. "You'll never guess what Draco gave me for Christmas!"_

_"A blowjob?"_

_"Ye—_NO!_ Tom!"_

_"What? You two would be good together."_

_"…well, maybe. But! I'm faithful to Voldemort and you know it. Now," he said, lifting a hand and concentrating. "This is what he gave me…"_

_It materialised slowly as if the air was being peeled away particle by particle until the weathered leather was sitting firmly on his hand. Tom glanced at it, preoccupied with cooking his breakfast, but not two seconds later he did a double-take. It would have been comical if Harry didn't recognised the expression in his eyes:_

_Fear._

_"Where did you get that?!" he whispered, eyes wide and looking as if he couldn't get a breath in._

_Harry scrambled off the counter, for the first time since meeting Tom actually scared for his well-being. He stumbled backwards, eventually hitting a bookshelf. He gripped the journal tightly, gaping at the crimson eyes that spat venom into his nervous-system._

_"Tom—"_

_"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!" _

**Chapter 12/To Be Continued…**

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to **Of Stories Told** for his/her idea about singing snakes :D [Hope you're still enjoying the story!]

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE WAITED TO WRITE THAT SCENE! Hopefully y'all like it - it wasn't as cracky as I'd pictured it, but it came out nicely I think.

Have a request? See the last chapter for the form in which to PM me with, or leave in a review.

Hope everyone enjoyed - things should start picking up pace now...


	13. Interlude: My Reflection

**Interlude: My Reflection**

Harry was a mystery to him, no matter how hard he tried to understand him. It was as if he was so predictable that he was _un_predictable.

Tom had hated that, at first. His whole world – and wasn't that a laugh, _his_ world – had been shattered by some pathetic little punk who didn't even notice when meddling old coots messed with his head. He had latched onto him like some kind of limpet, acting as if they were best friends. He hadn't understood how the idiot could be so accepting of him, and then he realised it.

Harry didn't have to accept it, because he didn't _know_. As far as he knew, he was just a dream – a fantasy that his subconscious had thought up to satisfy his urges to be closer to 'Voldemort'. That would be some pretty vivid dreaming, Tom thought, but Harry didn't seem to see anything off about it. He supposed after those years in the cupboard, you would have to have a strong imagination and that's what he pegged it up to.

He never suspected that an outside source had been involved, whether knowingly or not. He thought the old fool would probably go into cardiac arrest if he realised what exactly his little spell had done, and wouldn't that be a sight to behold.

He had always hated Albus Dumbledore, but he hadn't felt this burning, feasting hatred even when he was still a part of 'Voldemort'. Now he was just Tom, a slither of a memory locked inside of a young man's subconscious, and he had never loathed someone more. Maybe the old man thought he was doing what was best for everyone, but _nothing_ condoned what he had done. To Harry, to the people around him, to the Order. Well in actuality he didn't care much for the Order – if they couldn't step back and see what exactly he was doing, then they didn't deserve to be pitied – but it was intent that counted.

Looking at Harry, watching him and his past, he had to fight himself not to care. Perhaps it was the years locked up in the House that had sensitised him to the boy, to his emotions and his thoughts; perhaps it was the dependency he had on him, seeing as his memory would have withered and died without a host; perhaps it was the little empathy he was capable of – he didn't know. All he knew was that Harry Potter needed someone to guide him and he was more than happy to help crush the old fool and his useless Order. He was so sick of watching Dumbledore get away with murder, literally and metaphorically. He wanted to crush him and as a model Slytherin, he wouldn't let this opportunity go.

It was just like Dumbledore to make things much more difficult than they needed to be, however. Spell after spell, potion after potion – he didn't know how Harry could miss the signs and just go with it, but now that he had contact he would make damn sure that neither of those things affected him again. He didn't know about blocking the spells, but with his immense knowledge came the reverse enchantments and while he wasn't as gifted in Potions as Snape or even some of the Malfoys, he could damn well recognise those ridiculous compulsion serums Dumbledore had been mixing up in his basement.

Now he just had to figure out how to remove the Blockers. They were nasty things – incredibly complex to put in place and near impossible to remove without damaging the magical core or straining the subject's mentality. He was confident that he could find the information and perhaps even perform it himself, but he would much rather have someone with a denser magical reserve than himself. While it wounded his pride to admit that in his current form he didn't have much in ways of actual magic, he knew he couldn't take the chance.

If the boy could get into the good graces of his old body, then he'd leave it in the hands of Voldemort. He wasn't holding his breath though…

* * *

The boy was back again. Tom didn't know how to he managed to enter the House without his consent – though really, if he wanted it enough he could just close his eyes and arrive – but he had been returning frequently; every few nights or so. It was always strange, having someone else there with him, though he liked it to a degree. Time didn't pass like in the real world, but he had been without someone to talk to for a long time.

Even if Harry seemed absolutely enamoured with him, which was…odd. He had thought, in the beginning, that he would understand that he, Tom, was not Voldemort and would leave the romantic feelings for the man himself. Harry seemed to understand this, to a degree; there was an obvious distinction between them and yet Harry acted as if he…were in love with both of them.

Love, he would sneer. He had loved only one person during his entire existence – was it even love? Affection, perhaps, and definitely lust – and that man was long dead by now. Abraxas had been something to him that Harry could never be, no matter what he said or did. He felt something for the boy, sure, but it was more like the affection an owner had for their over-excitable dog. Precious, indeed.

He saw the dreams that Harry had, sometimes, and this was why he could accept that Harry couldn't see the difference. He didn't particularly like it when Abraxas' affections for him were toned down – mentor/student his arse! – but at least he wasn't considered a threat. Dead or not, Harry wasn't in any position to act rationally and if it made him feel better to pretend that Abraxas hadn't snuck into his bed constantly when they were at Hogwarts, then he would indulge him. It wasn't as if it would affect the boy's relationship with his original body, anyway. He had seen how the lines blurred and the memories faded as Voldemort went madder and madder, and knew that Abraxas didn't mean the same to him as he once did, as sad as it sounded. He comforted himself with the knowledge that their – _affection_ – would always stay with him.

Well, him and Riddle. He surely remembered their early relationship with Abraxas, though it probably didn't mean as much to him.

* * *

He couldn't believe it. He had allowed the meddling, had indulged his affections, had been welcoming –_and the little snot acted as if he were doing him a favour!_

Every single jar, _empty_. He had no tea left and he wouldn't be able to accumulate more for at least another five years! As disgusting as the brews were, he _needed_ it! It was his very reason for not allowing himself to fade away, to mould into the boy's mind and leave his existence behind. The ashes of his memories, reminding him of his life as Voldemort and everything that he had left behind when he broke off to become the next Horcrux.

It was his salvation…so why did he suddenly feel so free?

* * *

They were in bed, waiting for the clock to chime. Harry was snuggled into his side, nose buried in his neck and most likely already half-asleep.

It was uncomfortable, being so close to someone else, but he allowed it. Besides, even when he pushed him away Harry would worm himself back into his arms. It only fuelled his theory of an over-excited puppy. He was praying that he would go off of him when Voldemort gave up – because oh yes, he would give up! Harry was too stubborn and too unstable to allow himself defeat – and then he could go back to pining for Abraxas and whining about how unfair his life was.

Apparently, Draco and Harry were buddy-buddy now. He didn't quite know how to feel about it all – especially since he now had a clear view of the little idiot's boyfriend, who of course wasn't even half-worthy of a Malfoy's attentions. Harry wasn't very impressed by him either, which was a plus. He would allow the snuggling, knowing that little Draco was being taken care of. He was his grandson, after all, even if Lucius was still unaware of his parentage.

_Oh Merlin…the Gryffindor soppiness has been rubbing off on me…_

**Interlude/To Be Continued…**


	14. Act II: The Diary and the Riddle

**Chapter Fourteen: The Diary and the Riddle  
25 December 1996 – Continued**

Harry was so confused – and scared. Honest to goodness fucking _pissing_ himself! He hadn't felt this way since the Tri-Wizard Tournament and he certainly didn't appreciate the return of the heart-thumping, head-pounding, blood-curdling, palm-sweating _fear_.

Tom had never gotten so mad; not when he dumped the tea or interrupted one of his fits or even when he found the memories. Why was this so different?

He wanted to say "oh, it's just a book" but he knew immediately that that just wasn't the case. It wasn't just any old crummy book – he himself thought it looked much like the diary of Tom Riddle, a Horcrux created by Voldemort, so what did it mean to Tom, a materialisation of said man?

Tom looked about ready to rip him to shreds, clawed hands reaching out to grab the book clutched to his chest. He dropped it instantly, curling in on himself in a vain attempt at protecting himself – oh look, that Slytherin self-preservation was coming out…

"I told you!" he finally managed to find his voice. "Draco gave it to me!"

Step 1: Blame somebody else.

Example: When suspected of Death Eater activities, play the Imperius card. Works every time!

Tom summoned the book, attention completely absorbed by the worn leather and yellowing pages. He reminded Harry of some kind of caveman, bent over his precious hunt as he cooed and made faces at it. He stroked the cover as if it were some kind of precious thing, eyes unusually wide and mouth parted as if he were trying to speak, but at a loss for words. He turned around then, stalking away from him and down the hall into the bedroom.

_…what…was…that?_

Harry watched the spot he had been not two seconds before, eyes wide and breath catching in his throat. _Well…that escalated quickly_, he thought numbly. He waited at least five minutes before his Gryffindor curiosity and stupidity came out, and he forced himself up off the floor. Harry slowly approached the bedroom, his whole body feeling as if he had been struck by lightning. He wondered at the sudden change – Tom's anger was gone as soon as it had appeared and now he was practically mooning over the journal as if it held the secrets to the universe.

"Tom?" he asked, voice cracking. "Tom, what's going on? What is that – book?"

"Draco must have said," the man replied, voice airy and expression unreadable. He walked to the half-empty bookshelves to the side of the room and browsed the rows of books for a moment before making soft 'ahhing' sound and plucking one of them out.

"…he said it belonged to his great-uncle, and that it was given to his grandfather," Harry said quietly, watching as Tom perched on the end of the bed and laid both books onto the bedspread. He realised with growing dread that the one he had just picked up was identical to the diary he had destroyed in second-year. "Tom...—"

"That's true, it was Septimus' journal. He tired of it, in his seventh year at Hogwarts, and gifted it to Abraxas upon his thirteenth birthday. It holds…many secrets."

"Draco said he found it in his family's library…"

Tom cocked his head to the side in a very bird-like fashion, briefly lifting his eyes to meet Harry's gaze before dropping them back to the books. "I never realised he kept it…" he muttered, almost to himself. "I thought he would have disposed of it…"

Harry remained silent, unsure of what to do. Questions were bubbling up his throat, on the tip of his tongue, but he also knew that Tom was in a very – unstable mood. He did _not_ want to say the wrong thing and risk being attacked or banished from the dream-world. He watched as Tom lifted the covers on both diaries, brushing his fingers over the index pages. He saw then that they each held text, one announcing 'T. M. Riddle' and the other 'A. A. Malfoy'.

"…what else did he say?" Tom asked suddenly, voice sharp; daring Harry to lie or leave something out.

"He—he said that there was a rumour about the book, that if you addressed it when writing inside then it would write back. Lucius apparently told him it was possessed, but Draco said that he wrote inside but never got a response."

"Possessed? An amusing thought…no, of course he wouldn't have gotten a response..." Tom paused suddenly, sitting up ram-rod straight and jerking out a hand. A moment passed in tense silence before a soft whizzing sound was heard, a quill flinging itself into the room not a second later and hitting Tom's fingers with a soft slap. He closed his fist around the quill and pulled T. M. Riddle's diary into his lap, flicking to a blank page – though they were all blank – and scrawling something across the page in his elegant writing.

Harry frowned, eyes slowly raising as he waited for something to happen. He almost expected the words to fade and Riddle's to appear like he remembered from second-year, but then Tom slid the diary off his lap and picked up Malfoy's. He turned to the exact same page number-wise, and Harry was shocked to see a neat sentence already appearing, identical to what Tom had written to the slight tremble of his quill as he dotted an 'i'.

"They're connected?" he said, equally confused and excited. "…but the diary was a Horcrux—"

"Yes, it was," Tom said shortly, staring down at the page with hard eyes. "I—Voldemort—turned it into the very first Horcrux…Abraxas suggested it, actually. He was sentimental like that…"

"…he knew about the Horcruxes?" Harry asked quietly, mind working over this new information. _Very first? Did that mean there were…more?_

"He knew it was a possibility."

"How did they come to be connected?" Harry asked after a moment, brow furrowing. "Surely they would have to be manufactured like that…"

"No, there is no such thing like this for the public – not exactly like it, anyway. Abraxas wanted a way for us to communicate outside and inside of classes and when we couldn't speak in person, like during the holidays and such. We experimented with parchment first, and it took a while, but we managed to get them connected. The only down-side was that anybody could write inside, so we used passwords in case it wasn't the other writing back."

"What about after it was turned into a Horcrux, though? Did it still work?"

Tom glanced up at him, expression unreadable. "…yes, it still worked. But Riddle used to interrupt our conversations, and we slowly stopped using the diaries to speak to each other. I'm sure Abraxas still wrote to Riddle, though."

"Lucius had the diary," Harry thought aloud. "Did that mean Abraxas gave it to him?"

"Ah, Lucius," Tom said, eyebrow twitching. "Little twit had the diary destroyed. Riddle is probably most upset, having to abandon his haven."

"…what? Riddle – Tom Riddle, that is – is dead…isn't he? He died when the diary was destroyed?"

Tom got a strange expression on his face, turning back to the diaries. He looked as if he were deciding whether to say something or not, before uttering softly, "No, he's still…alive. He was mostly reabsorbed by Voldemort when he was resurrected."

"Mostly?" Harry echoed, eyes widening. On one hand, he was slightly suspicious at how freely Tom was giving away such sensitive information, but on the other hand he couldn't help but gobble it all up. Whatever agenda Tom may have telling him these things, anything connected to Voldemort was very valuable in terms of getting closer to him.

"Horcruxes are dangerous things," Tom whispered, pulling Malfoy's diary into his lap again. "Dark magic, Harry. Very dark. Once a soul has been torn apart like that, it is impossible for it to be put back together again – it may be stitched up, but there will always be holes and wears. Riddle was reabsorbed, but he still has control over himself, so to say."

"Is Voldemort aware of this?" he asked, still sitting on 'torn apart' and 'stitched up'.

"Who knows?"

Harry shook his head slowly, mind going over and over what he had just heard. This was…amazing. This brought on a whole other hundred questions, but he had two main ones that he needed answered.

"Could To—Riddle be put back inside the diary?"

Tom stiffened visibly, expression wiped clean from his face. He looked as if he were thinking hard, seemingly not even hearing the clock as it chimed for lunch-time. "Why?" he asked finally, voice flat. "The diary was destroyed, anyway."

"Dumbledore still has it," Harry argued, but quickly dropped it and went back to the first part. "I—would like to have contact with Riddle. He was a part of Voldemort, and to be close to him…"

Tom was shaking his head, but his words betrayed his body-language. "I don't know – I wouldn't recommend it, either. Even if Riddle agreed, we'd need the diary and since Dumbledore still has it, as you said...he'd notice if it suddenly went missing."

"We could always replace it with something glamoured to look like it," Harry suggested in a pleading tone. "Tom—"

"I already said I don't know!" he snapped, effectively shutting Harry up. "Leave – I want…I want to be alone."

Harry nodded mutely, feeling as if he'd stepped over some invisible line. He backed out of the bedroom, nearly tripping over Gerald _again_. Shaking his head, cursing silently, he walked back to the front of the house and collapsed on one of the sofas. He'd speak to Tom about his other question some other time…

* * *

Tom was barring him entrance from the House – Harry had a sneaky suspicion he was moping over Abraxas' diary [and maybe wanking] – so Harry was left to his own devices for the most part. He took to lounging in bed or hanging around the twins, writing letters back and forth with Draco. The owl they used was a plain barn-owl so no-one seemed overly-suspicious of who he was corresponding with, though Hermione kept sending him funny looks. To be on the safe side, he had the owl [who he very creatively called Owl] deliver letters from Luna and Neville too.

Hedwig had been a bit snippy about it in the beginning, but soon got over herself as he regularly used her to send Voldemort things. From what he could understand of her excited chirping, he let her hunt Wormtail sometimes and if Lucius was there, he'd coo over her and sneak her treats. This surprised him, but he brushed it off. Maybe she had him confused with Draco or someone else.

Currently, a few days after Christmas, Harry was sitting in the Black library [in a corner Sirius had deemed 'safe'] examining Abraxas' diary and subsequently thinking about Draco. He was waiting for his latest letter, quill and parchment ready. They talked about everything and anything, surprisingly not running out of things to say. Draco's awkward Christmas with his parents provided plenty of writing material, anyway.

"Harry?"

He shoved the diary under his discarded jumper, looking up as Lupin poked his head around a bookshelf and spotted him at the table. He wore a weary smile and his usual shabby clothes, eyes flicking over what Harry had set out on the table. Some stationary, snacks, books and his jumper.

"Remus," he greeted, slightly confused. "Are you looking for someone?"

Remus didn't usually search him out and only really talked to him when Sirius was around or when they were in the same room. It wasn't anything personal – in fact, he quite liked it about the man. He was there and seemingly supportive, but he never pushed and he never tried to crowd Harry.

"No, I was looking for you, actually."

"Oh…is something wrong?"

"Not exactly," Remus said, sitting down across from him with a thoughtful expression. He said nothing for a short while, merely sitting there and looking around as he seemed to gather his thoughts. Propping his chin up, he said in a tired voice, "Harry…there have been some concerns expressed to me about your friendship with Draco Malfoy."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were still on about this? "I'm sure there have been," he muttered, not at all like a petulant child.

To his surprise, Remus gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm not here to tell you not to be friends with him or anything of the like, but Padfoot wouldn't stop going on about it until I agreed to 'knock some sense into you'. Dumbledore is also concerned, but you already know that I'm sure."

"Yes, unfortunately," he sighed, slumping somewhat in his seat. "He's not his father, you know," he added quietly.

"No, he's not." Remus agreed with a strange expression on his face. Harry straightened, eyes widening a bit. What was that look – _longing?_ But…that didn't make sense…No, he must be mistaken.

Owl flew into the library then, breaking the bizarre atmosphere. She landed neatly on the table, nibbling his finger gently when he reached out to pet her feathers. She was friendly, like Hedwig, though she only took cuddling for so long before she usually flew away. Humming at her, he took the letters—wait, letter_s_? He frowned, putting Draco's aside for that moment.

The envelope was plain and thin, similar to something he'd expect to find in a muggle stationary store. There was no wax seal or even anything sticky keeping it closed, so he just pulled back the flap and reached inside for the letter.

Scrawled in a _very_ familiar script was a simple _'Highly venomous indeed. Wormtail will be out of action for a while.' _

"Good news?" Remus asked mildly, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He looked up, startled, and only then realised he was grinning like a fool.

"Yes," he laughed, folding up the letter and slipping it back inside the envelope. He wondered whether to share for a moment before giving into his evil-cackling urges and adding, "Very good news. A little birdy tells me our rodent problem has been temporarily taken care of."

Remus stared at him blankly for a moment before realisation dawned and his eyes widened, mouth parting in surprise. "How—?" he started to say, but then shook his head and stood. "On second thought, I don't want to know."

"Good, I wouldn't have been able to tell you anyway. A magician never reveals his secrets," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows. His mood had lifted radically and he was practically buzzing with excitement.

"Keep out of trouble, alright?" Remus said softly, staring at him meaningfully before nodding a goodbye and leaving the library. Harry couldn't help but notice a little spring in his step and he smirked to himself. _Oh, there's more to Moony after all…_

He revelled in his mood for a few silent moments before picking up Draco's response and breaking the medium-level warding charm. He didn't use wax seals because it was too much work, and they reused the same envelope anyway since they were going back and forth. Pulling the parchment out, he smoothed it over the table in front of him and propped his head up in his hand as he read.

_Potter,_

_Professor Snape just arrived so I'll have to go down and greet him, thus I apologise for the hastily-written reply. Luckily he and Father always have lengthy conversations [see: gossiping sessions] before Mother calls for me, so time isn't that tight._

_As for my worst Christmas experience – when I was about seven or eight my paternal grandmother, my uncle and his children came for the holidays and stayed until New Year. It was absolutely horrible; my cousins were all older than me and made a complete mess of everything and of course I got blamed. They didn't speak much English either [my uncle married a French witch, and my grandmother was originally from Bulgaria] so even if I could have denied any participation in destroying the Manor I had no idea what I was getting blamed for. After that I started taking my French tutor more seriously. _

_They're all very strict too, so I wasn't allowed to do half the stuff Father used to let me get away with. I mostly sat in my room by myself reading or playing, and if I was lucky Pansy or Blaise would come over. Then Christmas day came and I had to endure all my cousins whining about how great my gifts were, and smile and look grateful when opening my uncle and grandmother's gifts. They were truly horrible presents – I don't even remember what they were; books on the history of spaghetti or something similar. To make matters worse, I had gotten a newer-model training broom from my father and my youngest cousin thought it would be a great idea to ride it out the window. She absolutely ruined the broom and broke her arm, but luckily everyone saw her do it – she wasn't the brightest of them – and things got a little better after that. When they left my parents made it up to me [and my uncle bought me a new broom] so I suppose it wasn't so bad, but I definitely don't want a repeat. _

_Mother's summoned me, so I'll most likely reply to your response in an hour or two. Feel free to ramble – I respect Professor Snape, but once he and Father get started on a subject they rave and moan and I can't even sleep with my eyes open because they'll _know_. In other words, give me something to live for._

_Draco_

_P.S My appointment is at 12.00PM on Thursday, Jan 2. _

Harry paused, frowning slightly. His appoint—_oh_. He nodded to himself, already pulling some out some parchment to write a reply. They had been talking almost every day and they had spoken more than once about his upcoming check-up with Healer Gaspard. Draco had eventually asked him outright if he would come over on the day for support, though he wouldn't be able to actually go into the examination since they weren't related.

He had agreed without even thinking about it, though it wasn't as if it was a hardship. He wanted to help Draco any way he could and he was also very curious to see if he was indeed pregnant. It was a strange thought still, a man birthing a baby, but it was also very interesting and he couldn't help but think having a family with Voldemort wouldn't be so bad…

Dipping his quill in some ink, he started writing out a response – starting with the fact that he didn't know Lucius had any siblings…

* * *

_He lay perfectly still, eyes closed and breathing even. He didn't want to get up, didn't want to face the 'day' but he could feel the House rumbling irritably around him, nagging at him to get on with it._

_Blue eyes fluttered open, staring blankly at the books laying innocently a few inches from his face. He could smell the dust and musty pages, traced the wears in the leather, saw where the writing had faded with time._

_He had spent a long time just sitting with the diaries, wondering when it had all gone for shit and he had lost the one person he had ever really cared about. Abraxas' illness was unrelenting, sure, but he had been so far gone in his own madness that it hadn't mattered to him whether he lived or died. Only when he had split from the host and was able to gather himself and his thoughts would he realise he could have helped._

_What made it worse was that Abraxas had never cared. He didn't ask him to stay when Lucius was born; didn't ask him to stay when he returned from his travels; didn't ask him to stay when he was on his deathbed. He had gone through life knowing that he, Voldemort, could never give him the things he desired and he took what he could get and he never pushed the bounds, even when he was fully entitled. Now, as Tom, he wished desperately that he could do it all over. He often wondered if he could have been happy, if Abraxas had put his foot down and told him to raise his son. With the Malfoy name he could have easily gotten far in politics, could have done his deeds that way, but he had never considered it. He was too far gone._

_Reaching out, he brushed his hand over Abraxas' diary; absently wondering when he had become so sentimental. Was it all the time he had to reflect? He didn't know and he didn't think he liked it either – regretting the past would get him nowhere. _

_After a long moment he sat up, pushing off the duvet and placing his feet on the carpeted-floor. He stood and made his way to the bathroom, running a hand through his hair._

_He paused upon stepping over the threshold, tilting his head to the side and listening as the mattress squeaked lightly under a new weight followed by the soft rustling of paper. He didn't look back, not even when a mocking voice called out to him._

_"Hullo, Tom. Fancy meeting you here."_

**Chapter 14/To Be Continued…**

* * *

Question time! [Because I just...just help me out here...]

**-Side-Pairings - Do You Want:**

_-Draco and Blaise to get back together? If not, who would be a good candidate for an eventual partner?_

_-Lucius to be paired with someone not Narcissa? Would you be interested in how their relationship develops? _

**-Things To Take Into Consideration:**

_-Triads/More allowed._

_-I have ideas for both, but since they're only sides and won't be a huge part of the story, I'm interested in this being a sort of readers-choice kinda thing. _

_-This is a pretty cracky story, so bring on the crack pairings! [No resurrecting the dead however, so they must preferably be alive! How alive is debatable ;D]_

Thanks as always for the support! I've gotten over a 100 reviews and this was a pretty exciting milestone for the story! :D Favs and follows also warm the heart!


	15. Act II: A New Year, A New Beginning

**Chapter Fifteen: A New Year, A New Beginning  
2 January 1997**

Harry wrapped a scarf around his neck, whistling to himself as he gathered his things together. He wasn't taking much; just his wand and his school-bag that he slung over his chest. It contained Malfoy's diary, a few books he had snuck from the Black library and some chocolate for Draco he had asked the twins to buy for him. They were less than interested in Order affairs, so they were more than happy to cover for him or do his bidding.

Draco had sent over a customised Portkey, so he was just waiting for the clock to strike twelve so he could get going. The appointment would be starting at that time and he had wanted to go over before, but Draco said he'd rather just get it over with. Harry would be hanging about his bedroom until the Healer let him go, as far as he knew.

Finally is it was time to go, so he left the twins' shop and stepped into the alley behind the building. The Portkey was what looked to be a cuff-link, silver with an elegant emerald 'M' in the centre. He studied it for a moment before clenching it in his fist and muttering, "Notice-Me-Not."

"Um…hello…" Harry said, peering down at a homely elf who had greeted him at the gates.

"Rokky is to show Misters Potter to Young Masters quarters!"

"Right," he nodded, gesturing for the creature to lead the way. Glancing around as he was lead across the Manor grounds, he couldn't help but think the house seemed very solemn – not that that was very different to how it normally was, actually. But it felt…off. Tense.

The peacocks were all flocking together on the lawn, honking at each other and pecking at the ground; the sky dark and dotted with angry clouds. He almost expected lightning and thunder to rain down, but the weather stayed the same, even when they entered the Manor.

No-one appeared to greet him, but he wasn't expecting a reception. Draco and his parents were probably already with the Healer in whatever room it was they were using, and if the books Draco had lent him had a lick of truth to them, he'd be in there for an hour at least. He wasn't particularly looking forward to waiting around like a lost fart, but at least he could snoop through Draco's room or read.

Digging through his underwear drawer sounded more fun…

* * *

_"Riddle," he replied dully. "You've not visited in a long while. Been busy?"_

_"Not particularly – Voldemort doesn't challenge my intellect often so I'm left to my own devices, so to say. I lose track of time easily."_

_"Hm."_

_Riddle stood up from the bed, if the light creaking of the mattress springs were anything to go by. He seemed to wander the room, fiddling with books and knick-knacks and most likely waiting for him to 'break' and ask as to his presence. Tom sneered to himself, crossing his arms and glaring at the floor. Riddle had always annoyed him, though his company was better than half of what he could have been presented with._

_"I've heard some curious rumours," Riddle said slyly, apparently tiring of the silence. "Yes, curious indeed. Voldemort is quite taken aback, meaning it's more than worth my interest."_

_"Get to the point, Riddle." _

_"Tell me about Harry Potter."_

_"What is there to tell?" Tom asked irritably, spinning on his heel to face his younger counterpart. "You knew the boy, once."_

_"He has changed," Riddle argued, blue eyes wide and alive with an emotion he didn't recognise. "He lusts for us…when I last saw him, he was a mere defiant child, fighting for a pathetic little girl and an even more pathetic cause. What has changed?" _

_"He lusts for Voldemort," Tom corrected automatically, frowning. "He is still a defiant child, if you must know."_

_"Yes," Riddle said, lips quirking into a wry little smirk. "He still has that fire…it is a mystery how he has kept it aflame all these years. Those atrocious muggles he lived with, then Dumbledore and his Weasleys…"_

_Tom straightened, arms falling to his sides as his eyes narrowed, mouth pinching. "You know about the muggles?" _

_"Why, of course!" Riddle uttered mockingly, leaning forward before dancing back and twirling around to face the bookshelves. "I've been into his mind, did you know? Another part of it, mind you. Quite a messy place it was – cluttered with emotions and memories and the wisps of our magic, of course." He paused, adding slyly, "And of course I've looked through your precious memory-books. His thoughts are woven into some, did you know?"_

_"Yes," Tom replied tightly, "I did, actually."_

_"Oh?" Riddle sounded disappointed. "No matter…Tell me about him, then."_

_"Don't act as if I agreed, you little wretch! I have better things to do than try and explain the absurdity that is Harry bloody Potter!"_

_"Oh but Tom, my dear friend, what is more important than the Boy-Who-Lived? Surely you are not immune to his…eh, _charms_, should I say?"_

_"Charms?" Tom snorted. "Don't tell me you fancy the little idiot now!"_

_"Oh, don't be such a fuddy-duddy!" Riddle clucked, rolling his eyes and jutting out his hip, resting a hand on it. "You know full-well I wouldn't have a chance with old Snake-Face in the picture. That Malfoy boy, however…"_

_"HE'S YOUR GRANDSON!" _

_Riddle sighed, looking very much like a kicked puppy. "It's a cruel world, no? And he just recently broke it off with his little boyfriend, too!" Then, brightening, "Maybe he'll look past the incest? His mother is a Black, isn't she? It must not be such a strange concept—oh, fine, fine, don't look at me like that! I'll leave the boy be…"_

_"Damn right you will!" Tom huffed, ignoring the sulky look he got in return. "Leave me, Riddle, I'm not in the mood for your nonsense!"_

_Riddle's demeanour changed, the atmosphere quickly taking on a darkened edge. He regarded Tom with an expression of absolute importance, eyes flickering between red and blue. "I hear the boy's thoughts sometimes. I know he wants the diary – _my_ diary. He feels guilty about destroying it, and wants for me to inhabit it again so we can 'be friends'."_

_"He is not in control of his own thoughts," Tom replied quietly. _

_"No," Riddle agreed, a nasty grin inching across his mouth. "But doesn't that make it more fun?"_

_Tom was silent. He knew that this was a very crucial moment – Riddle could very well go back to Voldemort and tattle, or contact Harry himself – which was a _very_ bad idea. In such a vulnerable state, who knew what Riddle would convince him of? On the other hand, if he helped Riddle transfer himself into the diary, he'd be in contact with Harry anyway. And what would happen if Voldemort noticed this? Surely he wouldn't allow such a fragile part of himself to be in his arch-nemesis' hands – _literally_._

_"Fine," he said eventually, throwing caution to the wind. "I'll help you." _

_Riddle smirked, "I knew you would see it my way."_

* * *

Draco stared listlessly at the ceiling on the Transfigured examining-table, hands fisted at his sides. He had been lying there for what seemed like forever, his mother seated stiffly at his side while his father spoke with the Healer. He couldn't wait until school started again – a foreign thought, but a daily occurrence nowadays after admitting he might be pregnant. It could have been a lot worse, but he'd very much like to get away from the cool attitudes and 'we expected more from you' looks.

"Good day, Mister Malfoy," Healer Gaspard said, apparently finished speaking with his father. He came up to the examining-table and put his black leather bag on a stool that had been put out for him, removing his crisp black gloves and taking a clear potion from his pocket. He poured a gel-like fluid onto his left hand and capped the vial before rubbing his hands together. The burning scent of lemon hit his nostrils and Draco realised he was cleaning his hands.

"Good day," he muttered, turning his eyes back to the ceiling and avoiding his piercing gaze.

"We'll just get straight to the point, yes?" Healer Gaspard waited all of two seconds before continuing with, "Because the examination is so, eh, should I say _personal_, I would like to ask you a few questions to decide for myself whether or not it is best to go on with it. Would you rather your parents left the room for this?"

"We will _not_—!"

"The boy is sixteen, Lucius," Healer Gaspard said coolly, not even looking up. Draco supposed he was allowed to be short considering he had been the family physician since his father was a small child in the fifties, but it was always a shock to see someone treating Lord Malfoy with anything but begrudging respect or outright fear. "Well, Draco – may I call you Draco?"

"Yes," he said, averting his eyes once more. "…they can stay…"

"Very well. Please do not interrupt my examination for any purpose other than genuine concern for his well-being," the Healer added for his parents' benefit. He opened his bag and took out a file, flicking to the right page and summoning a Quick-Quotes Quill.

"We'll start here: How long have you been sexually active?"

"Er…about two years…" Draco mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up. His mother made an indignant sound, but neither of his parents said anything to this admittance.

"You were fourteen, yes?"

"It was just before my fifteenth birthday."

"Hm. And were you using contraception?"

"Yes…"

"How often?"

Draco cleared his suddenly tight throat, sighing shakily. "Every time. It's only recently that we—_he_, stopped."

Healer Gaspard paused, quill scratching to a stop. "You were not aware your partner was not using protection?"

"No. I was doing my part, and I assumed he was too – he had always done it before, so I saw no reason to make sure."

"And how long has he neglected in doing the charms?"

"Er, about five months, I think…" Draco replied, racking his brain. Blaise had admitted to stopping somewhere around July.

Healer Gaspard glanced down at his flat stomach and made a note. "I see. How many times have you had intercourse since then, would you estimate?"

"…six or seven?" Draco blushed furiously, feeling his parents' heavy stares on his person. The atmosphere was thick with repressed words and he prayed for a hole to appear and swallow him up.

Healer Gaspard seemed to hesitate for a moment before asking bluntly, "And he ejaculated inside of you every time?"

Draco was absolutely mortified, but nodded stiffly, unable to find his voice_. Oh Merlin, Harry best have brought some alcohol with him. Or maybe he'll be kind enough to Obliviate me? Yes, that's much safer…_

"As you must know, Draco, male pregnancies are very much rare, so I hope my scepticism of you unknowingly getting pregnant is not undeserved. It is possible, of course," he paused, as if struggling for the right word, "and it has happened before in your family, but it is still a very unlikely occurrence. The fact that you are experiencing this and have not reached full maturity yet is somewhat worrying too."

He bristled somewhat at the 'maturity' bit, but knew the Healer meant physically and most likely sexually. Eyebrows raising, he asked, "It's happened before in the family?"

"Yes, once or twice," was the terse reply. "I have already been given your symptoms, but could you please list them in your own words and experiences?"

Draco frowned somewhat, but ignored the sudden change of subject and closed his eyes, thinking. "I…first noticed that I was becoming – moody. Everyone was saying I was acting strangely, and Professor Snape asked if I was feeling ill. Then I was having abdominal pain and getting sick during meal-times; I couldn't eat any greasy food and the smell of coffee and certain desserts made me feel nauseous. My moods got worse, and I passed out during a Potions lesson. I've been experiencing fatigue, and I sleep far more than necessary."

"Have you gained any weight?"

"Some…but I think that's because I've been consciously eating more…"

"I see – well done for taking the initiative. Has your sexual drive diminished or increased?"

"Er…increased, I suppose, but I am not with my partner anymore and since then I haven't…er, had the urge…"

"Is that so?" Healer Gaspard had a strange expression on his face, quill hovering uselessly. "Have you been with anyone else since then? Or, have you had the urge with someone else?"

Draco opened his mouth to growl out a "No!" but snapped it shut, eyes widening when he realised that wasn't exactly true. There was that dream he had had previously starring himself, Harry and Snape's surprisingly comfortable desk in the Potions' classroom…

"And is this person, eh, close to you? A friend you confide in, or someone you otherwise trust?" the Healer pushed, a strange glint in his eyes.

"I-I don't see how this is relevant!" Draco spluttered, relaxing a bit when his father voiced the same thoughts – though in harsher words.

The Healer ignored his interruption and nodded as if he had gotten his answer, suddenly taking out his wand and putting away his quill and file. "There is a blood-test I would like to do. It is not always accurate, but it is helpful for looking at the hormones in your body and if you are pregnant, than the pregnancy hormones will be present. Are you comfortable with this? All you have to do is smear some blood onto a sheet of parchment and then we wait for a few minutes for the result."

Draco nodded slowly, not bothering to look at his parents for assistance. A sheet of strangely-coloured parchment was pulled out and then a knife of sorts – a short blade with a small handle. He took it carefully, slicing his finger precisely and brushed it over the parchment as directed. The cut was healed immediately and then the Healer was casting a spell on the parchment, watching with furrowed brows as it glowed green.

Minutes passed in tense silence before Healer Gaspard suddenly muttered to himself, waving the parchment as if to dry it before smoothing it out with his wand and frowning at it like it was a naughty child. "No, no, this will not do…"

"Well?" Draco asked impatiently, clenching a fist. "What does it say?"

"You are producing the female hormones, but this does not necessarily indicate pregnancy." Then, hesitantly, "Lucius, I need to see previous blood tests for Draco. There is an abnormality I cannot ignore if I am to do an examination."

"An abnormality?" his father exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing to the table. "Let me see!"

Healer Gaspard obediently handed him the parchment, grim-faced and without his usual snark. Draco watched his father pale, face draining of all colour, and felt his stomach drop.

"This looks like…"

"Yes, I thought so too. You are proficient in potions, Lucius – are all the signs there?"

His father's head snapped around, eyes wide and mouth pinched thin. "Draco, what have I told you about drinking things you haven't seen opened and served yourself?!"

"What?" he choked out, confused and terrified. "But I don't! No-one could slip me anything!"

"Well apparently you haven't been watching close enough. According to this, you've been continuously dosed with multiple fertility potions."

* * *

Harry was bored. He had long ago tired of reading and while Draco's room was certainly interesting, he had felt bad for rummaging through his things. And if he were being honest, the sex toys he had found on his little snoop absolutely mortified him. Though he did wonder why they weren't better hidden…

He was currently lying on the fluffy carpet before the fireplace, rolling around on his belly and fantasising about his life if he were with Voldemort at that moment. Certainly a lot of planning and war-meetings would be going on, but in between then he could picture waking up and going to bed together, taking romantic _steamy_ baths together, eating with the Inner Circle at his side and maybe even starting a family together when the Wizarding world was at peace after they won the war…

He paused, sitting up and staring into the fire. He'd had a dream like that, actually. A dream of a future ten years from now where he was sitting outside in a pretty garden with small children playing on the lawn while he and Draco chatted about nothing in particular over fruity drinks. Two Death Eaters would be standing guard, but they were absolutely expressionless and uninterested in their mindless prattling.

The thing that really caught his attention was that he and Draco were both in obvious stages of pregnancy.

He had spent the next day in a strange mood, though he couldn't help but secretly revel in the fantasy. Having a family of his own would be fantastic, and the fact that Draco was there with him didn't mess it up either. Draco had always been a constant in his life – from enemy to friend, it didn't matter – and having him as a confidant later in his life would be great. Now all he had to figure out was who had fathered Draco's pregnancy…it certainly wasn't Zabini and his attitude-issue, even in his vague fantasy.

The door slammed open then, Draco stumbling inside and scrabbling to close it, leaning up against the thick wood. He was breathing harshly, shaking faintly.

"Draco?!" he gasped out in surprise, tripping over himself trying to get to his feet. "Are you okay?!"

He flinched, but shook his head and refused to turn around. Harry approached him cautiously, unsure of what to do. He was obviously very upset, so that meant he could either become extremely violent or collapse into a puddle of sobbing goo.

"Draco?" he asked quietly, reaching out slowly. "What's wrong?"

Draco shoved off the door, spinning wildly on his heel and lunging forwards. Harry automatically threw up his hands to defend himself, but then Draco was hugging him and clinging to his jacket. Harry wrapped an arm around his waist, awkwardly embracing him.

He didn't cry, but he was trembling and making choked sounds as he tried to drag in air. His face was boiling hot where it touched Harry's neck, though his skin was clammy. Harry gently led him to the large bed, sitting him down and obligingly shifting into a more comfortable position when Draco crawled onto his lap. He fumbled to pull off his boots as they were digging into legs, his own shoes long gone.

Long minutes passed with Draco clinging to him like a limpet, muttering nonsense and choking on tearless sobs. He thought he heard something about "I'll be locked in a tower with a—a bloody dragon at the entrance!" but decided not to comment on it. Finally, Draco calmed down and loosened his hold, though his cheek was still firmly pressed to his chest.

"I'm not pregnant."

Harry stiffened in surprise, not quite sure what to make of the bitter tone. Though, he too would be a bit disappointed if he had spent that long thinking he had a bun in the oven and it turned out the heat had been on for nothing.

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "Um…your parents must have been relieved."

"Hardly," Draco scoffed, voice scratchy and watery. "They'd have much preferred a child than—" he clamped his mouth shut and Harry got the distinct impression he wasn't supposed to hear whatever Draco had been about to say.

"You don't have to tell me," he said, though he was curious now. And scared. Was Draco ill? There were some very strange and deadly Wizarding diseases out there…much scarier than most muggle ones he had heard of.

Draco nodded jerkily and pulled away, but remained on his lap. "More tests need to be done, and then I can tell you," he muttered, staring somewhere into the distance. "I need to tell Blaise…"

"Right," Harry nodded, grimacing. _Tests?_

Draco sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes before leaving the bed and kneeling before the fireplace. He tossed some powder inside and called out, "Lemaire Estate, the Emerald Room; Paris, France!"

Harry wondered at the mouthful, but knew that you had to be very specific for Floo-calls. He glanced around, not wanting to seem as if he were listening into the conversation. Someone else answered the call, a man, but Zabini arrived and greeted Draco.

Grabbing his bag, he dug out the chocolate and the diary; ready for when Draco came back to the bed. He glanced over the diary, absently fingering the cover. He had thought quite a bit about how to go about this, though he was sure his solution was as good as it was going to get at that moment.

"—goodbye, Blaise."

"Draco! Don't you see?! This works out better for us! We can start ov—"

Draco cut off the call, staring at the settling flames before shoving himself to his feet and walking calmly back to the bed. Looking up at him with the best bloody poker face he had ever seen, Draco said, "Blaise is a real arsehole, did you know?"

Unable to help himself, Harry grinned and snorted out a laugh. "Sounds familiar. How did he take the news?"

"I don't know," Draco sighed, picking at his sheets. "He looked kind of disappointed, but also relieved…he thinks we should start dating again."

Harry said nothing, hearing the faint incredulity to the words. Draco obviously didn't think they should.

"And of course his reasoning is that I've got no-one else," Draco snorted. "He's trying to threaten me with all the girls who want to have his mudblood babies."

Here Harry kept _very_ quiet, ignoring the tingles of his old Gryffindor self who would have snarked something like: "Wasn't that what you were about to do five minutes ago?!"

"It's not as if I've not got suitors too! I—I just don't want to date them!"

"So go for someone else," Harry said before he could help himself. Then, because he had already spoken, he added, "You know, if you want to date. Or get back at him. I'm sure you could find someone."

"Like who?" Draco sulked, flopping back on the bed like a starfish, glaring at the ceiling. "Everyone either hates me, likes me too much or has no opinion but would rather keep away."

"Uhh…what about Fred or George?" Harry suggested, in a flash of brilliance. "They're always up for some fun, and they'd be happy to help you get him back if you explained the circumstances – I mean, that he's a prat, not the pregnancy thing."

"The Weasley twins?!" Draco sounded horrified, voice mirroring his expression. "Have you gone off the edge or something? I can't date or pretend to date a _Weasley_! My father would have an aneurism! He'd disown me for sure!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic!" Harry rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but wonder himself. Lucius really did hate the Weasleys…

"Either way, they could help. They have connections…they could get you someone willing to pretend, either for a joke or money."

Draco seemed to think about this, eyes alight with some emotion he couldn't recognise before they dimmed and he muttered, "No, he's not worth it. Even if it would be awesome to see him crushed."

Eyebrows raising, Harry studied his friend curiously. _He's probably just in shock or something_, he thought. Draco would normally jump at the chance to get revenge.

"Oh hey, I wanted to show you something!" he said, changing the subject. Hopefully this would cheer Draco up...

Draco turned his head to look at him, eyes widening in recognition when he saw the diary. "Is that—?"

"Yes!" Leaning in close, as if telling him a secret, Harry said, "You know how you said there was a rumour going around that it's possessed?"

"Did you talk to it?" Draco breathed excitedly, effectively distracted. He sat up hurriedly, crossing his legs and hunching down to examine the book.

"No, it doesn't really work like that," Harry explained, ploughing on when he saw Draco's disappointment, "You know my – friend, the one I told you about?"

"Tomlinson?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry nodded, grinning somewhat. He had accidently mentioned Tom's name once, and had ended up telling some whole story about a man called 'Tomlinson' – the man he had come to Draco about in the beginning.

"Yeah, well, he told me that the diary is a magical artefact." Tomlinson just happened to work with cursed and magical objects, thank god. "It's connected to another diary, and was used for communicating."

"Oh…so, with both diaries, two people can talk to each other?"

"Exactly. I just so happen to know where the other diary is, too…"

"Really?" Draco said, startled. "Where?"

"In Hogwarts," he hedged, not quite sure whether to mention where in the castle. "I can get it, but it'd take a while. I thought, until then, I could use the same spell on the diaries on another book and we could – well, write to each other. You know, if you're bored or in class or something."

Draco looked surprised, but also pleased that he was being included and that Harry had thought to include him. "I'm not opposed to that. But wouldn't people find it strange, that we're carrying around diaries suddenly?"

"Oh, you're right…hmm. We could Transfigure the covers to look like textbooks?"

"Way to think out of the box, Potter," Draco smirked. "Do you even know how to do that?"

"No, but you do, don't you?" Harry batted his lashes playfully.

Rolling his eyes, Draco nodded anyway. "I have an empty journal somewhere, I'm sure. We could do it now?"

* * *

Harry closed the door quietly behind himself, fixing his scarf and the way his bag-strap fell over his chest. It was inching on midnight and Draco was asleep, curled up in bed. Harry had promised to stay as long as could, but an hour after laying down with Draco he had to leave lest the Order break down the Manor doors. If they could even find him, anyway. It had been a bit tricky worming out of Draco's arms without waking him – especially since he had been quite comfortable and warm, on the verge of falling asleep himself – but he made it and filled up the space where he had been with pillows. He wrote a quick note, sticking it to Draco's forehead for when he awoke.

Now, he was standing outside of Draco's rooms without a clue as to what to do. He supposed he could just call Rokky to take him back to the gates where he would use another Portkey to get back to Grimmauld Place…

"Harry Potter?"

He flinched, spinning on his heel, wand in hand and pointed dangerously at a large painting on the opposite wall. He paused, squinting when he saw who had called out to him.

It was a familiar man, possibly in his early thirties. He was dressed in formal robes, white-blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail and resting on his shoulder. He was handsome, Harry thought, with piercing blue eyes and a pretty mouth. A small child was at his side, perhaps six or seven, with shoulder-length hair of the same shade and curious eyes that peered down at him as if he were some kind of especially interesting insect.

_Lucius_, he realised with a start, fighting the urge to laugh. He sure was a – cute, perhaps was the word, kid, with his pink cheeks and arrogant tilt to his chin. The way he was clutching at his father's cloak was also endearing.

He moved in closer, noting the silver plaque under the painting. _'Abraxas A. Malfoy'_ it read, followed by, _'Lucius A. Malfoy II'. _

"Um, hullo," he said, not sure how to feel. _This is the one who holds Tom's heart…_

"You are different to what I imagined," Abraxas mused, staring at him with an unreadable expression. "Shorter, too."

Harry bristled, "Well _excuse me_."

"Hm, an attitude too. Lucius mentioned that, of course, but you never know with him."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Young-Lucius demanded, glaring up at his father.

"Oh, nothing," Abraxas replied airily, never once taking his eyes off Harry. "Why don't you go play with Anton, yes?"

Lucius looked absolutely disgusted, staring at his father with betrayal. "_Anton_? Are you joking?"

"Go, child. Mr. Potter and I are going to discuss boring things. You would be uninterested."

"Like politics?" Lucius asked curiously.

"Like politics," Abraxas confirmed with a faux-sympathetic little smile.

"I'm going to speak with Auntie Meyryn then," Lucius announced importantly. "You may continue with your – politics." With a fussy wave of his hand, he walked out of the frame.

Harry watched him go with a faintly incredulous expression, suddenly knowing exactly why Draco was such a prat. Abraxas followed his gaze, lips curling into a smirk.

"Yes, he is quite spoiled. What can I say? He deserves only the best."

"Who is Anton?" he asked, not familiar with the name nor why Lucius would be so reluctant to play with him.

"Antonius, my other son."

"Oh…how many children do you have?" Harry asked, curious. Draco had vaguely told him about his father's siblings, but he didn't know much. Just that his grandmother had gone back to Bulgaria when Lucius was a teenager, soon after his father died, taking his siblings with her.

"Four," Abraxas replied. "Lucius is my eldest, Antonius a year younger than him, and twin girls born in the mid-sixties. I've heard, anyway. This portrait was done in 1961."

Harry wondered briefly at the almost-friendly tone, eyeing the man suspiciously. "How did you know who I was, anyway?"

"Your reputation precedes you, and you are a common topic in this house. My grandson speaks of you with mixed feelings, it seems."

"Draco has spoken of me?"

"Hm. I am somewhat of a confidant, having gone through what he has. Or he seemed to, anyway."

Harry blinked, but didn't get to question the man as Rokky appeared then, dragging him from the hall and Apparating out of the house. He thanked the elf, ignoring the poor thing's panic attack and activated his Portkey.

It was only as he was getting ready for bed, drifting off to sleep when he realised what Abraxas had been talking about.

_Confidant…had Abraxas been pregnant?!_

**Chapter 15/To Be Continued…**

* * *

Sorry for the long wait! Well, long in terms of my usual updating schedule. This chapter didn't want to be written for some reason, but I finally got it done so, show me some love? Please? [puppy eyes] It's longer than last chapter, too!

I'm really excited about this story – nearly 400 follows and nearly 200 favourites! And of course all the nice reviews! :)

Thanks, as always, for the support! [flies away to start on next chapter]


	16. Act II: Of Imaginary Boyfriends

**Chapter Sixteen: Of Imaginary Boyfriends and Horcruxes  
8 – 10 January 1997**

Days later Harry was still contemplating what Abraxas' portrait had told him. He supposed he could be taking it completely out of context, but this was a _Malfoy_ he was talking about. It was best to keep on his toes.

The rest of the holiday passed in relative boredom, though he did get to talk to Draco a lot more now that they had a faster means of communication. He had gotten some funny looks when he started scribbling in his 'Defence textbook' but no-one asked him about it. He thought they probably assumed he was just taking notes or something. Lupin had initially been disapproving of his 'defacing' but had curiously gone quiet after his first semi-complaint. Harry feared he might have found out what the diary actually was, though there were no visits to Dumbledore nor did he speak to him about it himself.

He became more careful about how he handled the diary, either way. Soon it was time to go back to school and Harry and the others were dropped off at the train station. He immediately searched out Draco, shrunken diary in his pocket and dragging his trunk behind himself. He nodded to people he recognised, calling out greetings when he thought it too rude to just ignore them, but he didn't stop for anyone. He wanted to catch up with his Slytherin 'friends' before the train started.

"Draco!" he waved, spotting his friend in the crowd and trying to catch his attention. His parents must have just left because he was still loading his stuff onto the train – or, Crabbe and Goyle were, anyway. Taking a page out of his book, he shoved his trunk and Hedwig's cage in their general direction. They grunted irritably at him, but tossed it inside anyway.

"Potter," Draco greeted, glancing him up and down before motioning for the train. "Let's go sit, I've tired of standing around in the cold like this. Have any money for sweets?"

"A few stray coins," Harry shrugged, glancing at him curiously. "Broke, Malfoy?" he added with a grin.

Draco looked offended for all of two seconds before rolling his eyes and shoving him onto the train. "Hardly. I left my money-pouch in my trunk and getting it out now is too much of a hassle. Father refused to give me more since I already have my pocket-money for this week…"

"Oh dear, you poor little thing!" Harry scoffed at the pout, elbowing his friend. "Whatever, Malfoy. I think I can spare you a Knut or two."

"How gracious of you, Saint Potter," Draco snorted. "I shall forever be in your debt."

Harry sniffed delicately, lifting his chin and strutting away. "I know."

"You prat!" Draco laughed, catching up and shoving him half-heartedly. A few Hufflepuffs scattered at the sight of them, only amusing them even more. Crabbe and Goyle were following at their own pace, munching on some snacks they had gotten who-knows-where. Probably from those darling Hufflepuffs.

They found a compartment and settled down, talking idly about the rest of their holidays. Harry didn't have much to tell seeing as he had sat around headquarters all day every day, but Draco had been allowed out of the house a few times [though his parents made sure he was accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle _and_ a 'friend' of Lucius' that Harry was pretty sure was a hired Hitwizard.] Harry thought they were being a bit over-protective, but since he didn't exactly know what they were trying to hide Draco from he could only hope it was working…

"They don't want me doing anything reckless or getting in trouble," Draco explained uncomfortably, sneering somewhat. "You know, before the tests were done. We're still waiting on results…"

Harry nodded, sympathising. He himself wasn't really allowed out without guards, either – when the others knew he was going out, anyway. He was quite good at sneaking around nowadays. He _wasn't_ so good at getting out of trouble when they found him, however…

The trolley lady came around then and Harry rose to get them some snacks for the trip. A few Slytherins gave him funny glances and whispered loudly to their friends but he ignored them and closed the compartment door behind himself upon re-entering. Draco examined the sweets extensively before nibbling along the edges, pointedly ignoring his questioning stare.

"So, how are you and your…_friend_ doing?"

Harry blinked, momentarily confused before a wry grin spread across his face. "Oh, you know – men and their issues. I'm getting there, however. I should write him a letter, now that you've reminded me…"

"I thought he doesn't respond to your letters?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why bother?"

"It's the thought that counts," Harry replied sagely, regarding the other with hooded eyes. Brightening, he said, "I'm going to try and get the other diary soon. It depends on opportunity, as you know, and whether or not I can learn the glamour spell quickly enough…"

"Glamour spell? Why not just use Transfiguration?"

Harry wasn't really sure – Tom had merely said that Dumbledore would be able to reverse it. "Er…the glamour is stronger."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Draco frowned, for once not looking smug that he knew something Harry didn't. "That must be a very strong spell…maybe even Dark magic, depending on what it was created for."

_It's Tom, of course it's Dark magic._ "I'm sure it's fine…But anyway, I'll get it and you can have Abraxas' diary."

"What?" Draco said sharply.

Harry got the distinct feeling he had just made a _very_ wrong move. But Draco went on, not giving him a chance to backtrack and try to smooth over – whatever it was that had upset him. Probably the fact that the diary had been a gift…oh, he really shouldn't have said that…

"What if I want the other one?" he demanded, obviously riled up.

Harry frowned, trying to think of a good enough reason for Draco not to have Tom's diary. "It's pretty beat up," he offered weakly. _And you've already seen it…I'm confident you wouldn't tell anyone if I were dabbling with the dark, but if it came up with Voldemort…_

"Who did it belong to, anyway?" Draco asked, expression furrowing. "This person that my grandfather corresponded with – who was it?"

"…I can't tell you," Harry said, quickly adding, "right now." _Fuck Potter, learn to think before opening your mouth!_

Draco's expression went flat, mouth pressing together in a thin line. He stood abruptly, grabbing his robes from where he had flung them over the seat next to him, chocolate frogs tumbling to the floor from his lap. He hesitated a moment before scooping up the sweets and storming from the compartment in a fuming huff.

Harry watched him go, dumbstruck.

_…was the Healer _sure_ he wasn't pregnant?_

* * *

Draco never came back and Harry eventually got up to go sit with Ron and Hermione. They were surprised to see him, but welcomed him after an initially cold greeting. He was still trying to figure out what had upset Draco when they arrived at Hogwarts. He had kept secrets before…so what was different this time?

He looked for his friend, but when he eventually spotted him Draco refused to look his way, glaring balefully at his plate and snapping at Parkinson. Nott was sitting next to him rather than Zabini, though the latter was still way too close for Harry's comfort. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be keeping him away, however.

Dinner passed in a blur and then he was going to bed, casting multiple privacy charms around his bed. He lit his wand and opened Malfoy's diary, muggle biro in his hand. They hadn't quite figured out how to make it so either would know when the diaries had been written in at first, but soon enough Harry had had the idea to use the coin idea from Dumbledore's Army. He had had Draco research the charm since he didn't remember the incantation and days before the holidays ended he had been owled a plain silver ring. Hoping Draco hadn't gone to sleep already [and that he wouldn't ignore him] he started scribbling inside the diary.

_I'm sorry about earlier, _he scrawled. Probably best not to mention that he still didn't know what had set him off, he thought idly. _If you really want the other diary, you can have it. I shouldn't have said you should have this one – it was a gift and that was a pretty crappy thing to say._

He had been thinking about it and he decided that Draco _could_ have Tom Riddle's diary. His Tom had said that when he was still a Horcrux Riddle had been able to talk to both of them and this would be the ultimate test of friendship, having Draco protect it. Lucius had failed miserably, but then again he hadn't known how important the diary was…he was hoping Draco would take it more seriously.

There was the option of neither of them using Tom Riddle's diary, but the spell connecting Draco's empty journal and Malfoy's was just temporary – the 'bond' between Malfoy's diary and Riddle's was stronger and strengthened by both of their magic. He could only hope the link was still in place after all the crap that had happened to the diary.

After a moment he closed the diary and put it under his pillow, whispering 'Nox'. He would know if Draco replied, though really thinking about it he didn't think he would. Even if Draco had overreacted and maybe felt bad, his pride wouldn't allow him to apologise.

Sighing, Harry went to sleep.

* * *

_"So, when can I move back into my diary?" Riddle demanded._

_Tom studiously ignored him, completely focused on a memory he had found floating around outside the kitchen window. What was Abraxas playing at, telling Harry that he had been pregnant?! He hadn't even been very Slytherin about it!_

_"Oi! Focus on your necrophiliac tendencies later when I don't have to hear you sobbing over Malfoy! I want to know about the diary!"_

_"I am not a necrophiliac!" Tom hissed, breaking away from the memory. Then, thoughtfully, "and if I were, it would be _romantic_ necrophilia."_

_Riddle stared at him. "…please tell me you didn't just say that."_

_"Anyway," Tom said loudly, "I don't know about your bloody diary. The boy is planning on retrieving it from Dumbledore's office at some point. We can discuss it then."_

_"But I—"_

_"Tom?"_

_Both Horcruxes stiffened, having not noticed Potter shift through the wards. They heard the soft slapping of bare feet on tiles and then he was rounding the corner, spotting them standing in the kitchen._

_He froze, green eyes widening impossibly behind his glasses. He was still dressed in his pyjamas from the real world, hair mussed and expression a cross between horror and curiosity._

_"…Tom?" he asked, eyes flickering wildly between the two of them. "…are we going to have a threesome?"_

_Riddle laughed, voice echoing through the house. "Oh, I like this one! How creative of you, Potter. But no, unfortunately not."_

_Harry flushed in pleasure, quite distracted by the teenaged Tom Riddle before him. He looked as Harry remembered, blue eyes glimmering with mischief. Harry was struck with emotions he didn't recognise, though shock was quite noticeable. He lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair back, and Harry spotted something he didn't remember seeing from Second Year. It was a ring, a ring with a gold band and a strange black stone. It was kind of ugly, but Harry was interested all the same._

_Riddle followed his gaze to his ring, quirking an eyebrow. "Jealous, Potter?" he asked teasingly, though his eyes remained sharp and focused._

_"Of course," Harry replied quite seriously. "Where—?"_

_Tom interrupted, turning to face him properly. He didn't look the least impressed, eyes narrowed and mouth pinched in displeasure. "What are you doing here, boy? Did I not tell you to give me a few days peace?"_

_"Draco and I had a fight," Harry pouted, wandering to the couch and pulling Gerald into his lap. The snake hissed warningly but stayed put, warming itself against his stomach._

_"About what?" Tom exclaimed in incredulous disbelief. Draco and Harry, fighting? Ever since they started their weird little friendship they were like bloody twins, always agreeing with each other and their rows could be compared to little lover's spats. If this was about who ate the last Chocolate Frog he was going—_

_"The diaries," Harry muttered, glancing up at Riddle warily for a moment. "…well, actually, I'm not sure. But he got angry during our conversation regarding the diaries and just stormed out. I think it may have to do with me keeping secrets, but it could also be because I insinuated I would be giving back Abraxas' diary so I could have To—Riddle's, I guess I should call him, since you're Tom."_

_"I can see him getting offended because of you trying to give back his gift for a 'better model' but secrets?" Tom gave him a long, dry glance. "That boy has more secrets than the hours he spends on his hair. Like father, like son."_

_"Hm…well, I apologised, but I don't think he's going to forgive me anytime soon."_

_"Probably not," Riddle said, lips curling into a little smirk. "If he's anything like I remember dear Abraxas, he will milk it out as long as possible."_

_"Was that all?" Tom demanded, glaring between them. "I'm quite busy."_

_"Sobbing over Malfoy," Riddle taunted, dancing out of the way as Tom grabbed for his arm. He sat down gracefully next to Harry, giving him a winning smile._

_"Do you not feel the same for Abraxas?" Harry asked curiously, both disturbed and excited to be so close to Riddle. He had technically killed him, and yet they were having such a normal conversation…maybe this was a normal dream and Riddle wasn't actually visiting with Tom? It was entirely possible. He felt way too calm – he had thought so long and hard about meeting Riddle again and now…_

_Riddle paused, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, gazing at him with cool eyes. "Malfoy and I weren't as close when the diary was created into a Horcrux. I, in actuality, have none of the later experiences with him that Tom here remembers. I am fond of him, but I can't say I feel the same devotion for him as the others…"_

_Harry blinked, glancing down. He hadn't dared ever ask Tom, but if Riddle wasn't so…sensitive about it, he may as well give it a go. Softly, he asked, "Will you tell me about him?"_

_Tom left the room._

* * *

"Mr. Potter? If I could have a word?"

Harry didn't like the sound of that at all. He was just coming back from lunch, about to seek out Draco and force him to start talking to him again. It had been days and he really missed his annoying voice. Ginny just didn't do it right.

"Er…sure, Headmaster," he replied, following him as he turned to walk down the hall. They arrived at his office and Harry took his usual seat, quite unsettled by the other's unusually sombre expression and aura. Was he in trouble?

He voiced this thought and Dumbledore shook his head. "No, my boy. Forgive me…this is a very sensitive subject."

"Of course," he said obediently. _Were they going to talk about Voldemort?_

There was a short silence; a silence in which Harry diligently kept his eyes from meeting Dumbledore's. He was very much afraid of Legilimency and he wouldn't dare give him a way to enter his mind. Who knew what he would discover? He was vaguely sure Tom was unreachable, but as Moody said, "Constant vigilance!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said then, voice soft, "I think it's time you learn about how Voldemort came into being…and what he has done to ensure his immortality."

Harry felt his breath catch, blood unsure whether to drain from or fill his cheeks. His whole body tingled, a cool flame heating up as it was continuously passed through his veins, growing hotter and hotter as the number of loops upped each time. His eyes widened, mouth parting ever so slightly as he tried to suck in air.

Meeting his eyes for the first time since entering his office, Harry said, "Okay."

"You must understand, my boy, that Voldemort wasn't always Voldemort. He was a small boy, once…a boy called Tom Marvolo Riddle. You remember the diary from your second year, yes?"

"Yeah," Harry said, fighting not to look as excited as he felt. He tried to look sombre and perhaps a little hateful, glaring at the corner of the old man's desk. "The Horcrux. That was him, as a kid…"

"Unfortunately, at the time that he made his first Horcrux, he was too far gone to save. What do you know about Horcruxes, Harry?"

"Just what you've told me, sir," Harry lied. "They're pieces of your soul, making it so if you're killed you can be revived. Like in fourth year…"

"Yes, that is correct. Before we get into exactly how Horcruxes are created, you should know one thing, Harry: Voldemort created six Horcruxes before his first downfall."

"Six?" Harry breathed, eyes wide. _Six…oh bloody hell…_

"Yes," Dumbledore said solemnly. "As you can imagine, this has very much affected him. Horcruxes are dark things, Harry – very evil things. They rip apart your soul, inching away your sanity and sensibilities."

_"Dark magic, Harry. Very dark. Once a soul has been torn apart like that, it is impossible for it to be put back together again – it may be stitched up, but there will always be holes and wears."_

"Is there any way to put a soul back together again?" Harry asked quietly, voice strained. "I mean, if he were 'whole' again, it would be easier to kill him…wouldn't it?"

Dumbledore shook his head, a sad little smile inching across his face. "It is impossible, Harry. To reabsorb the Horcrux, you must regret creating them with your entire being."

Harry shifted in his seat, hunching at the ominous tone. _But Voldemort reabsorbed Riddle…_

"How…how do you create a Horcrux?"

"Murder," was the simple reply. Simple, as if there was no other answer. "To create such an evil thing, you must commit the ultimate crime."

Harry choked out a laugh, struck by a sudden flash of sardonic humour. "Well, that obviously didn't hinder him. Voldemort has killed hundreds and he will continue to do so."

_It makes sense…he killed Myrtle, didn't he? Why didn't I put that together?_

Harry glanced down at his hands, sighing bodily. This was all very…strange. A shock to the system, though he felt as if it shouldn't have been. Breathing in deeply, he asked, "The diary was a Horcrux…what are the rest?"

"That is what I've called you in for, my boy," Dumbledore said, standing. He walked across the room, gesturing for him to follow. "To destroy Voldemort, we must destroy his Horcruxes. To do so you must know them all by sight."

Anger welled up within Harry – he couldn't destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes! He had already 'killed' Riddle and he felt absolutely horrible about it! But he calmed himself, knowing that this was a vital point. He could protect Voldemort like this.

"He created six, as I said before. The diary, the Gaunt Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's Locket, Ravenclaw's Diadem and another…I do not know of the last one, just that there is one."

"Gaunt Ring?" he echoed, immediately thinking back to the ring he saw adorning Riddle's finger. Quickly backtracking so Dumbledore wouldn't think his thought strange, he added, "Slytherin's Locket? A…tiara?"

"All important to him, in some size, shape and form," Dumbledore assured. "The ring was his second Horcrux…it belonged to his maternal grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt. The Gaunts were a pureblood Wizarding family, you see. Parselmouths, with a direct line to Salazar Slytherin." Dumbledore paused, not turning around. He had been fiddling with something Harry couldn't see, but now he moved so the Pensieve he kept in his office was visible. A few vials stood to his side, all containing silvery wisps of memories.

"I'm going to show you how Voldemort came to be, Harry. For that, we have to go back to his childhood…back when he was still Tom Riddle."

Harry found himself walking forwards, wary and yet so excited he thought he might burst. His skin crawled as he came up beside Dumbledore, goose-bumps appearing all across his arms. He glanced at the Pensieve, not sure whether he really wanted to see what Dumbledore planned on, yet also knowing whole-heartedly that this would bring him closer to Voldemort…and Tom and Riddle.

"Show me," he said softly.

* * *

When Harry stumbled out of Dumbledore's office two hours later, he was positive of three things: a) He needed that bloody ring and b) Voldemort really did just need a hug and c) Dumbledore better watch his arse from now on.

[In the 'he gonna get his brain blown out' kind of way…not the surprise butt-sex kind…]

He was absolutely horrified at what he'd seen in the Pensieve, so bloody angry at Dumbledore and the previous headmaster. How could they just leave him like that?! They could see what was happening and yet refused to remove him from the orphanage, nor help him in any way! He wanted desperately to rush over to wherever it was Voldemort was and just give him a long hug, maybe nuzzle his neck a bit.

He walked quickly towards Gryffindor Tower, planning on writing a quick note to Voldemort to ease his mind. He paused, however, upon hearing the voice that had been void from his life the past few days.

"—stop following me around! Who are you, Weaselette?!"

"Don't compare me to that blood-traitor!"

Harry walked down the rest of the hall to the open window, leaning out to hear the confrontation, wand clenched in his hand if need be. Draco was standing in the near-empty quad, looking quite rattled with Crabbe at his side. Zabini stood across from him, alternating between glaring at them. His wand was held loosely at his side, the opposite of Draco's threatening stance.

"Get lost! I thought we discussed this already – just leave me alone!"

Harry frowned, not liking Draco's shrill tone at all. He was obviously very distressed despite his 'guard' but then again, Crabbe and Goyle were all muscle and no brain, really. Zabini could duel them under the table and then there would be no-one for Draco to hide behind. Except his father maybe, but if Lucius were there Zabini wouldn't have even tried approaching – he wasn't _that_ stupid.

What was worse than a convicted Death Eater? A Death Eater who was out free. Oh yeah, Zabini would've just kept walking.

"Draco," Zabini said in a faux-soothing voice, "the break-up was a mistake. We can be happy, don't you see?"

"I—I'm already seeing someone!" Draco announced, voice shaking somewhat. "We're not together anymore, so I thought I would give him a chance. He's wanted me for ages, you see. Yeah…"

Zabini's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't lie, Draco. It's unbecoming of you. I know there isn't someone else – you would be walking around with them, showing them off."

"I'm n-_not_ lying! And besides, I can't walk around with them because they-they don't go here! They're out of school already!"

"Someone older? Where the hell would you meet someone like that?"

"In Diagon Alley," Draco said stiffly, obviously regretting having lied. He was normally good at it, but Harry could see how nervous he was.

This seemed to tip Zabini off and he grinned, speaking gleefully, "Draco, my love, there's no need to be untruthful. I won't think any differently of you, in fact I would prefer you not to have—"

"You're awfully smug, Zabini!" Harry called, unable to see Draco squirm anymore. Zabini really did have a strange hold over him. "That's pretty presumptuous of you to assume Draco can't get another boyfriend – especially in Diagon Alley. Lots of businessmen go through there, you know."

"Businessmen?" Zabini asked sharply, choosing to focus on this rather than Harry's 'sudden' appearance. Draco's head snapped to the side to look at him however, eyes widening somewhat.

"Oh yes," Harry said nonchalantly, twisting his wand in his hand. "He has his own business – that's how they met, you know. But that was quite a while ago."

"Who is he?" Zabini demanded, apparently partly-believing the lie now that Harry was also involved. Everyone knew Harry and Draco were close, a lot of them speculating that they were secretly dating and had been for a while, so obviously Harry would have met Draco's new boyfriend if he had one.

Now Harry was stumped. He was barely able to share a glance with Draco before he was blurting out: "Frederick—"

"—Roddam—"

"—Erskine."

"Frederick Roddam Erskine?" Zabini said suspiciously, giving Draco an absolutely filthy look. "Cavorting with mudbloods, Draco?"

"Hardly!" Draco spat. "He is of pure blood, thank you very much."

"I've never heard of him!"

"His family immigrated to France and other such countries before Grindelwald's reign," Draco replied, sneering. "He is not as well-known as the Malfoys, yes, but his blood is not tainted either."

"Your mother still thinks we should be together," Zabini said, grasping for straws. "Obviously she does not know of him, so you must be lying. If he is so great, why would you keep him from your parents?"

"He's not," Harry said before Draco could open his mouth. "Lucius knows about him. They haven't met because the relationship is still new. Narcissa is still hoping you two will work out because she likes you and is friendly with your family."

Crabbe remained silent through it all, staring down at a particularly interesting patch of grass and now Zabini threw in his last ditch-effort of being a smart-arse. "Oi, Crabbe! This man Draco is supposedly seeing, are they serious?"

Crabbe blinked, glancing up from the ladybug he was about to squish. Harry and Draco were both on the edge of their figurative seats – if Crabbe said no, then Zabini would know they were lying through their teeth. Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco everywhere, it would be highly suspicious if they hadn't met his imaginary boyfriend.

Then, shrugging simply, Crabbe said, "Sure."

Zabini stared at him for a long moment before spinning on his heel and stalking away, robes billowing out behind him in a poor imitation of Snape. Draco relaxed visibly, slowly shoving his wand into his sleeve and turning wide, grateful eyes on Crabbe. It was a strange expression considering he had probably never spoken a grateful word to either of his body-guards and Crabbe must have thought so too because he shot Harry a look that clearly said _'um…is he on something?'_

"Come on then, Draco," Harry said, breaking the short silence. "We should probably write to your father…"

Draco nodded, quickly making his way inside with Crabbe at his heals. Hesitating a moment, he sighed and said, "Might as well contact your idiot friends, too. He's not going to just accept this…"

"Already on it," Harry said with a grin. Draco seemed to have forgotten about giving him the cold shoulder, smiling somewhat at him before glancing away and muttering something about Gryffindors.

Harry not-so -discreetly took his hand. Just because he felt like it. And because Draco was too cute for his own good.

* * *

_Dear Father,_

_If Blaise asks, you have indeed heard about a man called Frederick Roddam Erskine and you approve of me dating him. He is a pureblood businessmen [he trades things from overseas] and he is in his early twenties. We have been seeing each other since a little after I broke up with Blaise and you haven't met him yet because it's still too early._

_I will explain everything at a later date._

_P.S. You should totally give Crabbe a raise._

_P.S.S. Blaise is an arsehole._

**Chapter 16/To Be Continued…**

* * *

Romantic necrophilia is a thing O_o Don't even ask.

Um...I really do like Blaise...I have no idea why he's such an arsehole here. Let's all blame Dumbledore, okay? :D [nods]

Also, about the whole Volharry - I'm sorry about the slowness with them, but it'll happen. Eventually. Eventful chapter – hopefully it wasn't too busy. As previously stated, this story will be about 30-40 chapters long.

Thanks to erbkaiser, my teammate and sometimes-friend [LOL] for Draco's imaginary boyfriend's name! I know you won't see this, but thanks anyway :)

As always, thanks for all the follows, favourites and reviews! :)


	17. Act II: Title Was Too Long

**Chapter Seventeen: Double Trouble, Luscious and…Bubbles?  
11 January, 1997**

Draco was woken the next day to his thumb-ring searing through his flesh. Fumbling with it, he got it off and shook his hand, hissing. He took a moment to place himself before groaning irritably, bemoaning his lost sleep as he got out his journal and squinted at the first page and the scribbly writing that was appearing.

_I spoke to them and they'll be happy to help. We can go meet them in their shop later on and discuss the details._

Staring blearily at the information, he eventually understood and pushed his curtains open to get ink and a quill from his nightstand. He glanced around the dorm, seeing that Blaise was already gone along with Nott. Crabbe and Goyle were still sleeping. Quickly readying the quill, he scrawled out, _I thought their shop was in Diagon Alley. We're not allowed to go that far._

The reply came quickly, as if Harry had been sitting around waiting for him to write back. _We can walk with everyone to Hogsmeade and then sneak off._

Draco frowned in disappointment, shaking his head even though Harry couldn't see him. _I can't even go to the loo by myself, let alone Hogsmeade. Father refused, saying I could put up with the teasing of my peers and Mother agreed. They're being paranoid and over-protective, remember?_

Not that he minded all that much. It was nice to be fussed over, though it had gotten annoying fast when he learned his father had given Crabbe and Goyle special instructions with the promise of a raise.

The reply came a little later than the first, with the first section crossed out. _We could ask them to meet us If you give me an example of either of your parents' signatures, I know someone who can copy them and sign the letter. We need to hurry though, everyone's leaving in a couple hours. _

Draco was highly suspicious of this 'friend' but reluctantly agreed. He knew his parents would probably kill him – quite literally – if they found out he went not only off campus but to Diagon Alley, but Blaise needed to be taken care of. It was getting scary, the way he was going off at him now.

_Fine. I'll get ready and meet you wherever. They do know I'm involved, yes?_

_Meet me in the library, near the DADA references. And yes, I told them it was to help you. They know we're friends and have known since the beginning – customers are customers, to them._

Draco smiled a bit, though it dulled when he thought about the Weasley twins. This was not good…bloody hell, why hadn't he thought of this before, when he mentioned it yesterday?! If Harry's babbled plans were right, then he would literally be dating one of them…different name and face excluded. Maybe if he were lucky, they would find someone else to do it like Harry originally suggested. They had a business to run, they couldn't be fluffing around with him, anyway…

Groaning, he flopped back on his bed and covered his face with the journal, hiding his burning cheeks.

* * *

"Hey," Harry said, grinning at him and loping towards the desk he was slumped at. He had gotten there early and was carving rude words into the table-top with a broken nib he had found.

"You're late," Draco scowled, sitting up straight and dropping the nib to drum his fingers nervously. "Who said 'hurry'?"

Harry dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Do you have the example?"

"Yes," he rolled his eyes, getting out a sheet of parchment. "How is this going to work, anyway? They check for magically duplicated signatures, you know."

"It's not going to be magically duplicated," Harry said secretively. He took the page and studied it for a moment before nodding and gesturing for him to follow. "Come on, a little birdy told me he was near the greenhouses."

Draco wanted to ask, but knew Harry would ignore him. He followed silently, huffing irritably and glaring holes into that messy black head instead. He was extremely nervous about their little plan, scared that they would fail and get in trouble with the Headmaster or worse – his father. He would have really appreciated a little consideration, but Harry went on adventures like this all the time…he probably wasn't thinking anything of it.

They ended up outside, approaching the seemingly empty greenhouses. Harry looked around for a moment before shrugging and opening the closest door and heading inside, holding it open for him.

"Neville?" Harry called, surprising him. They were asking _Longbottom_ for help?

There was a squeak and then something shattering, most likely a pot of some sort. A muttered '_Reparo_!' followed and then Longbottom was hurrying out from a cluster of big bushy plants, wiping his hands hurriedly with a frazzled expression.

"Malfoy?" Longbottom frowned, eyes falling on him before spotting Harry behind him.

"Nott?" Draco exclaimed, completely ignoring the Gryffindor. His sometimes-friend had appeared after Longbottom, mouth set in an irritated frown. Seeing Draco, he raised an eyebrow and nodded in acknowledgment.

Behind him, Harry made a surprised sound. "Oh, it was Nott, was it? I see…oh well, I was somewhat right, I guess. Anyway, Nev, I was wondering if you could do us a favour."

Longbottom shared a confused look with Nott before shrugging, wiping his hands on his trousers again. "Uh, sure. Depends on what you want, I guess."

"See, Draco's parents didn't sign his Hogsmeade permission slip. You're pretty good at forging signatures, so I was wondering if you would do it for us. We'll pay you, of course."

"Uh…Harry, I'm not sure—!"

"This is really important, Neville!" Harry said. "You know Zabini is stalking Draco, right? Well, we've got a solution for that, but we need to get out of the castle for it!"

"Potter!" Draco hissed, shocked. "Don't tell them our plan, you dimwit!"

"We're not going to tell anyone," Nott said, amused. "I didn't know he was that bad, though. I thought you two were going strong until your break-up."

Draco was reluctant to explain it to someone he wasn't sure was trustworthy, but Harry barrelled right on, not even consulting him first. "Yeah, it's really weird, right? You'd think someone was messing with his head or something, the way he flipped."

Neville looked between them nervously before sighing. "Alright, I'll do it. Just…don't get in trouble, yeah?"

"Don't worry, if we're caught, you won't be mentioned at all," Harry flashed him a grateful smile. "Here, this is an example and – oh, I forgot to ask for your slip, Draco. Did you bring it?"

"No, I bloody left it at home," Draco snapped, yanking it from his pocket and shoving it in Longbottom's direction.

"No need to be so rude," Harry sniffed, taking both pages and walking to give them to Longbottom. He pulled some ink and a quill from his pocket, setting them on the closet surface. "There, you can practise on the back of this one," he gestured to the letter from Draco's mother, "if you want, I mean."

"Thanks," he said distractedly, inking the quill and staring at the signature. He bit his lip, then shook his head and pulled down the top of the letter, folding it so he could write and still see the original. He scrawled _Narcissa Malfoy_ quickly and elegantly, surprising Draco who had come closer to watch.

"It looks identical," he said, blinking. "Where the hell did you learn to do this?"

Longbottom looked uncomfortable, cheeks going Weasley-red as he quickly copied it out onto the dotted line of the permission slip. "Er, I dunno…just sort of happened. Anyway, here you go."

"Thank you," he said automatically, taking the slip and stuffing the letter into his pocket.

"Thanks, Neville!" Harry said, taking Draco's arm and tugging him towards the entrance. "Payment will come in soon! Come Draco, let's leave the love-birds to it…"

A mortified "what?!" was heard, but neither turned back. Nott's low chuckling followed them out of the greenhouse.

* * *

They had their coats and boots on, ready to head out to where the others were lining up for the walk to Hogsmeade when they came across Snape. He took one look at their 'we're-going-out' outfits and stopped them dead in their tracks.

"And where do you think you're going?" he asked smoothly, eyebrow hiking up his forehead. "Malfoy, you know you are not permitted to leave the castle-grounds."

"Oh, we're not leaving the castle," Harry said, looking as if he were straining to be polite. "We're going around to the Quidditch pitch to rack up some snow and toss it off the Astronomy Tower at unsuspecting victims."

"Potter!" Draco hissed, once again shocked at the other's inability to keep quiet. Even though he was lying through his teeth, it was still a pretty stupid thing to do!

Snape eyed him suspiciously and Draco shifted uncomfortably, glancing to the side. "I know Mother told you about…it. I'm not going anywhere. But now I suppose we're in trouble because _someone_ can't keep his mouth shut."

"Hm," Snape sniffed, turning from them and stalking away, hands clasped behind his back. "Do not get caught. And Draco…if I find out you're lying to me…"

"Yessir," Draco mumbled, insides quivering. Snape could be a scary bastard when he wanted to be…

"Well, that went well," Harry said brightly. "Come on, let's go."

"Have you been sniffing potions ingredients?" Draco asked dumbly, perfectly serious. Harry had been acting very strange since coming to get him and he was getting a bit freaked out. Surely he wasn't always like this? No, Harry was normally brash, but not nearly like how he had been, talking to Longbottom and then Snape.

"What?" Harry frowned. "Of course not. What are you on about?"

"You're acting a bit funny, is all," Draco said carefully. "Did something happen, then?"

"No, no, everything's fine," Harry said quickly, flashing him a smile that was as real as the love between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord.

"Fine," Draco said warily. "Would you stop tugging on my arm, though? It's starting to hurt."

Harry blinked, glancing down at where he was tightly gripping Draco's slim wrist. He stared at it blankly for a moment before shaking his head and dropping his hand. "Sorry…I guess I'm a bit out of it today."

Draco said nothing for a moment, mostly because he didn't know what an appropriate response would be. He glanced around, making sure Snape was actually gone before gesturing for them to hurry. The others would be leaving any minute.

They had just rounded the corner when Draco abruptly grabbed Harry's arm, making him stop and duck around a corner. "Stop!"

"What is it?"

"Pansy is there! She knows about my not being allowed to go to Hogsmeade! If she sees me, she'll definitely tell my parents or Snape!"

"Fuck…okay, we'll take another route. I guess that signature isn't needed after all…"

"What route?" Draco demanded in a whisper, eyeing his housemate with narrowed eyes. Pansy was apparently accompanying Greengrass and her little sister and Davis.

Harry gave him a truly unsettling grin. "Come on, we have to hurry."

* * *

"I'm never going through there again!" Draco hissed, slapping cobwebs and dust from his person frantically. "Oh my—something is crawling up my leg!"

"It's just me, relax." Harry sounded as if he were rolling his eyes. "It's a good thing I brought my cloak…anyway, get under. Anyone looking will be able to see us if we just walk out of here."

"Where are we, even?!" Draco demanded, though he obediently got under the cloak. He took a moment to wonder about it, but tried not to look like a fanboy.

"The Shrieking Shack," Harry said absentmindedly, peering out a crack of a boarded-up window. "Looks clear. We've just got to be careful about not pushing each other out of the way and revealing ourselves."

"Right," Draco said, feeling a bit sick. He had always wanted to be a part of Harry's adventures, but now he was starting to think he wasn't quite cut out for it…

"It'll be fine," Harry said flippantly, getting under as well. "Hold onto my waist, I'll hold the cloak up. Alright, try to match my pace and we should get out fine. We just need to get to Honeydukes…"

"Why?" Draco whispered, pressed uncomfortably close and trying not to stumble. "Why couldn't we just Portkey or something from here?"

"Dumbledore has wards up in here," Harry said distractedly, closing the door quickly behind them. "He'll know if magic is done in here or around here. Besides, Honeydukes has a Floo in the back connected to the twins' shop."

"But you hate Flooing."

"It's just easier," Harry explained irritably before telling him to shut up. Their boots crunched in the snow, but there was little they could do about it. They were surprisingly quick, approaching Hogsmeade in less than ten minutes. They arrived before the other students, even.

"Alright," Harry whispered, guiding them along the side of the village. "There's Honeydukes. The Floo is by the cellar, I think. I saw something vaguely fire-place shaped there the last time I was there…"

"What the hell were you doing in Honeydukes' cellar?" Draco hissed, not knowing whether he actually wanted to know the answer or not.

"Oh, there's a tunnel from Hogwarts to Honeydukes. I've used it a few times."

"…why didn't we just go through there then?!"

"Because we wouldn't have been able to get back," Harry said. "Shh, there are people around."

Draco shut up, glaring over Harry's shoulder at the passing witches and wizards. They were almost there, but then a group of children burst from the shop, nearly flattening them on the road. Harry yanked them out of the way, somehow keeping them upright and unseen. Draco cursed the little idiots furiously inside of his head.

Harry led him around the side of the building, searching for a side-door that was supposed to lead into a storage room. They slipped inside and walked along the wall, squinting in the darkness. "There," Harry said quietly. "In the corner."

Draco couldn't see anything but boxes and crates, so he took his word for it. Harry took out his wand and locked the lone door on the other side of the room, tugging off the cloak. "You go first. I'll make sure no-one comes in."

Squinting, he made out as Harry had said 'something vaguely fire-place shaped' and walked towards it, finding it half-covered by a length of material. He pulled it off just as Harry muttered a spell he didn't recognise, still pointing his wand at the door.

"What's that?" he asked anxiously.

"It's like a Muggle-repelling charm – it'll make them forget they have a cellar for a few hours."

"Right," Draco muttered. He was really starting to think this had been a bad idea, after all…

He found some powder and took in a breath to settle himself before tossing it in, raising his voice somewhat to utter: "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Diagon Alley!"

There was the usual blur and disorientation and then he was stepping out of a low hearth into another storage room. He righted himself quickly and stepped out of the way just as Harry came through. He gave him a quick look, just to check he was there in one piece, and stuffed his cloak into a box nearby.

"Come on, they'll be around the shop somewhere."

"What if someone sees us?" Draco worried.

"They're closed today," Harry assured. "Just for us, see. The windows are enchanted too, so even if someone looks inside they won't be able to recognise us."

Draco merely nodded, not knowing what to say. He followed Harry out of the surprisingly neat storage-area into a short hall, two other doors along the same wall with a singular entrance on the opposite. Harry pushed aside the beaded curtains and walked through as if he owned the place, Draco following more gingerly.

Neither noticed that their hair colours had changed drastically.

Draco had been inside the shop before [in disguise] but the ridiculousness of the whole set-up didn't fail to take his metaphorical breath away. The place screamed 'Fred and George!' and even he, knowing them disappointedly little, knew this. It was bright and colourful and exciting, the products arranged in their own splendid way with all sorts of variety within what they sold. He did raise an eyebrow at the _Amortentia_ display, however, acutely uncomfortable once he spotted that.

"Harry!" someone called, shocking Draco when a face suddenly popped up at his side. His hand was already on his wand, but the words that followed stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Wow, Malfoy, you look good in lavender. Who'da thunk it?"

"Not sure the orange suits Harry though, Fred. Guess our little brother is just gonna have to stay the black-sheep of the family, huh?"

"Oh, you're right, George. Such a shame…we can't pull the incest card on Ginny now."

Harry and Draco exchanged confused glances, both doing a double-take when they caught the other's new – er, _shades_. Harry thought it was bloody hilarious, even able to see a few fiery strands if he looked up hard enough, but Draco wasn't impressed at all.

"My _hair_!" he all but shrieked, clutching fine hunks as if he would be able to feel the colour. "What did you do?!"

"Oh, relax, it'll wear off," Harry said, amused. "Though, you _do_ look good in lavender…"

One of the twins produced a mirror, snickering to themselves. He took it shakily, paling when his purple-self stared back at him. Even his eyes, previously a grey-blue mix, had paled and taken on a somewhat silvery-milky colour. A small part of himself acknowledged that it did look good in a strange 'give me attention, I look like a fairy now' kind of way, but he was mostly just pissed. And hurt, despite the fact that he should have expected some kind of prank, really.

"Anyway," Harry said loudly before he could complain more, "we should really try to do this quickly. We don't want anyone to realise we're not to be found."

"You snuck away?" one of the twins asked, amused, the other nodding with a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"We had to," Harry rolled his eyes. "Besides, Draco's not even supposed to be in Hogsmeade either. If anyone at the castle realises he's not there…"

"Why's that?"

Draco scowled, fighting not to squirm as two sets of eyes were suddenly pinned to his person. He crossed his arms defiantly, spurring Harry to speak again.

"His parents didn't sign his slip. There was a…problem, so they're trying to keep a closer eye on him."

The twins nodded, though their curiosity visibly flared. One of them, George if he had to guess, said, "Well, it won't take long. We could have done this over owl, if getting here was such a problem."

"Wouldn't want to be intercepted," Harry said easily. "Can we go to your office?"

"Sure," Fred, he assumed, nodded, looking uncharacteristically serious. He gestured mockingly for them to go first and Harry grabbed Draco's forearm, tugging him towards the beaded curtain again. Draco narrowed his eyes at it, but went under and entered the latter of the two doors beside the storage room.

The office was cool and neatly-messy, two desks on opposite sides of the room with all sorts of random things littered around. They were ushered into seats in front of the desk that said 'Forge' and the twins pulled up chairs opposite them, smiling in an unsettlingly innocent kind of way.

"Let's begin then, shall we?" they said together.

"Right," Harry said. He pulled a note out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Draco glanced at it, seeing that it held the name they had made up for his 'boyfriend' as well as the other information they had spewed.

"Frederick Roddam Erskine?"

"We made it up on the spot," Harry rolled his eyes. "Sounds pureblood enough, anyway."

"What does he do in his business?" Fred and George asked.

"Trading," Draco shrugged stiffly. "That's what I told my father. Artefacts and other such things from other magical settlements."

One of the twins, George he thought, rubbed his chin. "We can work with this," he nodded. "And how old is he exactly? Or does this not matter?"

"Twenty-one?" Draco offered off-handedly. "That would be only four years older than me, then. His birthday could be in March…so, twenty right now, then."

"What did your father say about this?" Fred asked curiously.

"He didn't care much, said he wouldn't tip off Blaise and that I mustn't make a scene," Draco muttered.

There was a short thoughtful silence and then the twins seemed to have made their choice. "Well," they said together, "we think this would work better with as few people as possible involved, so we'll take care of this ourselves. All we need to work on is a backstory everybody is happy with and what exactly he looks like so we can tweak some Polyjuice Potions."

Draco was a bit stunned at this announcement, though Harry didn't give him a chance to react. "Thanks, guys! I really owe you one!"

The twins waved him off, grinning widely. "Are you kidding? This will be our pleasure! Business is fun, but this will be the excitement missing from our lives!" Then, slyly, George added, "Besides, we'll get to mess around with such a pretty little thing, too."

Draco jumped to his feet, absolutely mortified. "Harry, we should be getting back! We can do this another time!"

"We should get going," Harry allowed, standing much more leisurely. He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Though, I do want to have a quick look at one of your displays…"

The twins blinked. "Sure, go ahead, mate."

Draco groaned, sinking back down into his seat. He was _so_ going to regret this all when he woke up tomorrow…

* * *

"…"

"…"

"…what _is_ it?" Voldemort asked dumbly.

"A Pygmy Puff, if memory serves me right, my Lord," Lucius offered uncertainly. He glanced dubiously at the ball of pink fluff cooing up at the Darkest Dark Lord In Existence, mentally cringing at it's so-hideous-it's-cute appearance. "Those Weasley twins breed them."

"How do you know that?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes, lifting his gaze from the – _thing_ – sitting in the unmarked box Potter had sent him. It had been a bit of a surprise since the last thing Potter had sent him was a cryptic and ominous note telling him to watch himself, though he was really wishing he had opened some kind of bomb from Dumbledore like he had expected instead.

Lucius went bright red and shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his lap and fidgeting with his hands. "Er, I—I like to keep an eye on the enemy, my Lord…" _I definitely didn't disguise myself as a little girl to buy one to appease my longing for a companion since that dumb arse Anton threw Mr. Bear to Nagini when we were kids…_

_Oh, I should really feed Fuzzy…Narcissa probably didn't do it when she gave him another of her 'dye-jobs'…_

Voldemort wasn't convinced, but decided not to question it for that moment. The thing was staring pointedly up at him, cooing and purring as if it would make him like it more or god-forbid – _touch_ it.

"But…why?" he found himself asking. It was so ugly and it wasn't as if he needed another bloody pet – or whatever the hell the thing was meant for! Nagini was still sore about Rudi [who was currently wound around his left arm, still wearing those blasted reindeer-antlers] and no matter how useful those snakes were for scaring his followers into submission, being sent to the metaphorical couch in his relationship with his beloved familiar was surprisingly hurtful.

"Did he not leave a note, my Lord?" Lucius offered helpfully, shrinking back when a glare was tossed his way.

Voldemort peeled the slip of parchment off the side of the box, careful not to accidently touch the thing in the process. He unfolded it, scanning the short bit of text.

_Voldie,_

_I figured since you started off with Nagini as a pet, you should get the chance to have a harmless friend too, even if it wasn't your first! His name is Bubbles and he was the runt of the – er, litter? Quite fitting, if you consider both of us…_

_He was so glad to have someone to go home to, so treat him well! _

_Love,_

_Your Not-So-Secret Admirer _

"Bubbles?" he said dumbly, nearly jumping out of his scales when the thing gave a squeal and launched itself out of the box, landing on his shoulder. He gave a very manly shriek, frantically trying to swat it off his robes. It gurgled unhappily, hopping around and quickly becoming distressed when Rudi snapped for it as well. It jumped across the desk onto Lucius' head, who surprisingly didn't react quite as badly.

"Bad Bubbles!" he scolded, seeming quite happy with himself when Bubbles wilted and made a sad sound, slowly leaning over to peer upside-down into his eyes. It sniffled and slid into his lap, turning huge watery eyes on Voldemort.

"W-well," Voldemort blustered, "what a useless gift! Kill it, I say! Kill it with fire!"

"B-but, my Lord! You can't kill it!"

"And why not?! Don't tell me you think the thing is cute, Malfoy!"

"…well…!"

"Oh for the love of—!"

A fierce scolding entitled 'Why We Are Evil, Malfoy!' and the herding of Bubbles into a temporary cage later, Voldemort and Lucius returned to their strategy meeting. Time was passing them by and they really needed to get on with their plans.

"—security is upped during the summer since family members can visit, but it would also be easier to get in since you could sneak in with the crowd," Lucius said, pointing to certain areas on the map of Azkaban he had brought along with him. "From there you would have to be especially careful, however, as visiting is only allowed in the lower blocks. As the crime-levels get higher and more serious, visiting rights are diminished. Getting to Bella's cell-block will obviously be difficult if it only relies on getting in with the other visitors."

Voldemort nodded absently, tapping his chin with his wand as he thought. He had been planning to break out his followers from Azkaban for who-knows-how-long and though he was certain he could do it, it would be somewhat difficult. He knew it would be worth it in the end, however. Bella, Rodolphus, Rabastan and the others were important to his cause.

"Lucius, have you researched what I prescribed the last time we met?"

"Yes, my Lord. I am quite certain I can do it."

"Very good," Voldemort smiled, though it was more of a grimace. "You have considered my task for young Draco, as well?"

"It will be done, my Lord."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, quite pleased with that day's progress.

Everything was on track and they were ready to begin.

**Chapter 17/To Be Continued…**

* * *

Draco's POV...something new! I'm aware that permission slips work for the whole year, but let's pretend they don't…

Last few chapters didn't get as much feedback as usual…am I just being a review-whore or is it getting boring? :( I'm guessing the first...but the latter is also worrying.

Thanking you for all the follows, favs and reviews! :D Nearly twenty chapters o.o Not sure if I should be proud or not...


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